


Darkness Within The Light

by crimsonjc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Language, Original Character(s), Sexual Content, Suspense, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 290,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2175390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonjc/pseuds/crimsonjc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the battle of Hogwarts, can a Slytherin and a Gryffindor truly unite, or will a new dark power force them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Vengeance of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello to everyone that is reading this story. First off, I just want to say "thank you" to everyone that reads this story and as always do feel free to comment on a chapter(s). Just to get the legalities out of the way, none of these characters are mine, they are all J.K. Rowling's creations.
> 
> This chapter does contain character death and is dark, but it is a pre-chapter sequence that is explained in Chapter 2.

Chapter 1: The Vengeance of Truth

 

Memories are just where you leave them.

The pale moon illuminated the horrific scene below. It seemed like the images from a nightmare, but this dream was something more. Students and Death Eaters lay dead on the grounds outside of Hogwarts Castle. The village of Hogsmeade had become a crumbled pile of destroyed houses and shops. The beautiful, majestic Hogwarts Castle was now a ruined heap of rubble. Devastation surrounded Harry as he surveyed the damage.

Harry walked by many bodies, some unfamiliar and others he recognized. Most of the dead students stunned looks in their eyes from when the last few breaths of life had slipped from their bodies. Harry turned his head, trying not to look at the corpses, but he then came across a scene that made his knees buckle.

"Lumos." The tip of his wand began to glow, illuminating an image so gruesome his mind could not process it. The tableau came to his awareness in pieces as if he were working some macabre puzzle.

Red hair fanned out to frame a pale face with wide, empty eyes. Limp fingers extended toward the wand that must have fallen from their grip. Golden brown curls cascaded from a head bent at a sickening, unnatural angle.

"Ginny, Hermione… no!" Harry sobbed as he kneeled down next to his motionless friends. He placed his fingers upon the necks of both hoping, praying that there was still life within their bodies. His hand shook a bit as he lightly closed their eyelids. Looking for a sign of the girls' assailant, Harry turned in a slow circle. A few feet away from them sat Draco Malfoy, his lifeless body slumped against a marble column. The blood that marred his silver-blonde hair had already begun to congeal, matting the thin locks to his forehead. More blood trickled from his nose and lips. The cracked pillar behind Draco had been splattered with blood from the back of his head due to the force of the curse that had hurled the Slytherin into it.

"Draco," Harry mumbled to himself. "Somehow I knew it would have been you." In his mind, Harry could hear the taunts from the Slytherin about Hermione.

'You'll be next, Mud-blood!'

It was all too much for Harry, as he broke down and wept for his friends. Finally, he regained his composure and slowly raised himself back to his feet. He knew that he had to go on.

A bloody and battered Harry surveyed the battlefield for any survivors, especially his friends from the DA and for Ron, but they were nowhere to be found. Harry's heart beat a bit faster. There was still hope that Ron, or one of the other members of the DA, had survived.

They had lost, and the darkness had been victorious. Dumbledore and the Order's attempts to thwart this from happening had failed. Voldemort's plan had been so marvelous and brutal that any resistance that the Order had made had been futile.

Harry walked on and saw his future ahead of him. Waiting in front of him were Voldemort and a number of his Death Eaters. Harry could see, as well as hear Bellatrix Lestrange torturing Ron with the Cruciatis Curse. She laughed madly with the enjoyment of hearing Ron beg and scream for the torture to stop. Several of the Death Eaters laughed as Ron's shrieks echoed off the ruins of the castle. They watched as Harry Potter approached. One by one, they each stepped back forming a circle with Voldemort and Bellatrix at the center.

"Yes, that's right, allow him to come closer. He is our, special guest,"

the Dark Lord said, and he laughed his evil, raspy laugh as a broken-spirited Harry stood in front of Voldemort. The will inside of Harry was gone, having fled the thoughts that ran through his mind. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, had failed. The Prophecy would be correct and now he would die by the hand of Voldemort.

Without taking his eyes from Harry, Voldemort pointed a finger at Bellatrix. "Cease your fun for the moment. I believe Mr. Potter has something he wishes to say to me."  
The Death Eater did as she had been ordered. Ron's screaming stopped as he sagged to the ground.

"Harry." Ron's hoarse voice cracked as he tried to reach out to his friend.

"I know, Ron. I know," Harry said as he raised his head up to meet the Dark Lord's cold, red stare.

"Defiant to the end, are we?" Voldemort tilted his head to one side as if regarding a strange animal.

Harry did not acknowledge Voldemort, but instead he looked back down and focused on the fear in Ron's eyes. "Look at me, Potter!" Voldemort hissed.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and an unseen hand wrenched Harry's head upward, forcing him to stare into Voldemort's cold eyes. The young Gryffindor desperately tried to move his head to focus his attention on anything other than Voldemort, but his attempts were no match for the power of the Dark Lord. Harry finally managed to focus his eyes on the shambled remains of Hogwarts Castle. Voldemort, sensing this, released him from the paralyzing spell.

"You're still so stubborn, just like your mother and father. Dumbledore and his Order cannot help you, nor can any of your friends." Voldemort looked at the destruction of Hogwarts Castle before turning back to Harry. "He never told you, did he?"

"Told me what?" Harry snapped back at the Dark Lord. His spirit may have been defeated, but there still was the fire that burned within his eyes. "He told me everything that I needed to know."

"Exactly right, Harry," the Dark Lord said. "He told you everything that you needed to know, but he failed to tell you everything that there is to know."

"You lie! Dumbledore would never do that bec-" Harry stopped in mid-sentence as the memories came back to him like a flood.

"Ah yes, now you are beginning to put the pieces together, aren't you? Dumbledore used you and your name to leverage over the Ministry of Magic. Think about it, Harry," Voldemort taunted. "He had your legacy, the legacy that I gave you with that scar; he used it against you because he knew. He knew, Harry!

You see now what a great honor it was for him to add you to his extensive accomplishments, as it was he, Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster over the famous Harry Potter, who controlled you.  
You were his puppet!" Voldemort paused to look back at Harry, and to see the confusion and anger upon the Gryffindor's face.

"Tell me Harry, did he keep secrets from you?" Harry's mouth was dry as his nemesis bombarded him with the truth.

"Oh yes, the truth does hurt, doesn't it?" Voldemort continued. "He kept many secrets from you and did not tell you things until he felt it was time for you to know. These secrets are facts about your own life, facts that you should know. He blinded you with his so-called, 'love' and 'care', only to use your own power against you for his own personal gains, for his 'greater good'. Did he really care about you, Harry?"

Harry attempted to stammer out an answer, but Voldemort cut him off before he could utter a syllable.

"No, he did not. He left you out in the cold so many times, yet you went back to him every single time, and for what good reason?"

Harry was boiling inside of his skin, yet the anger was not directed at Voldemort. Dumbledore had misled him, and the realization of the truth slammed into his gut. It made the young Gryffindor want to vomit. What made it worse was that he had suspected something all of these years, but had never acted upon his suspicions. He had been led to believe that Voldemort was the enemy for so long that he had become blind to everything else.

"Don't listen to him, Harry!" Ron shouted. This snapped Harry out of his thoughts and back to reality.

Voldemort looked down at Ron and then back to Harry. "Your legacy can live on."

"The Prophecy said that—" Harry began, but was interrupted by Voldemort.

"The Prophecy means nothing to me, now. It is the ranting of a crazy, old witch," Voldemort said with a casual wave of his wand.

Harry stared at the ground in shock. Voldemort watched Harry, staring as if he could see the thoughts churning through Harry's brain as the young wizard tried to put everything in order. "You still have a choice, Harry. Join me and rule the wizarding world."

Harry again did not know what to say as his past and the last few moments of truth all swirled around in his mind. "You can still be the great Harry Potter. A Prince of Darkness."

The young wizard looked up at the cloudless sky and whispered to himself. Then he brought his gaze back down and looked right into the eyes of the Dark Lord. "Yes, I will still be the famous Harry Potter," he agreed.

"And so you shall be. One day you will be my equal and carry forth my legacy. That is my prophecy!" The Dark Lord said, shooting the Dark Mark out of his wand. He observed in obvious amusement as it filled the night sky above Hogwarts.

"No, Harry, you can't do this, please!" Ron begged.

"Harry, I welcome you to the dark side." Voldemort said as he placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder and smiled. Harry met his smile with his own evil grin.

"My lord, what shall we do about this one?" Bellatrix asked. The Dark Lord glanced down into Ron's tear-stained eyes with a hideous, evil smirk.

"Destroy him. He is of no use to us."

Ron gasped in horror. "Harry please do something, stop them. You can't let them!" He closed his eyes as he heard Bellatrix cackle madly.

"Say goodbye wee, wittle, Weasley!" Bellatrix began to speak the words that would end Ron's life forever when Harry interrupted her.

"No, wait!"

A very tense and awkward silence followed these words. The surrounding Death Eaters murmured stunned responses to Potter's outburst. A few of them stepped further away. Ron quickly opened his eyes and gasped. He knew that his best friend had fooled them all, and would still rescue him from all of this.

"Give me the wand," Harry growled. "If he is to die, then it will be by my hand." A black fog of darkness had clouded Harry's mind. It felt so uncontrollable and so refreshing.

Bellatrix turned from Harry to Voldemort with a surprised expression upon her face. The Dark Lord motioned for her to allow this to happen. She cackled wildly, and the Dark Lord bared his teeth in a perverted semblance of a smile, enjoying the Weasley boy's fear, and the creation of the new Harry Potter. Ron shouted and screamed at his best friend, feverishly trying to prevent the inevitable from taking place. Calmly, and with a dark, green glow in his eyes, Harry hissed the fateful words that would end the life of his friend forever.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green glow reflected in Harry's eyes as Ron made a final gasp when the curse struck him. A new feeling had been born inside of Harry. This sensation was unfamiliar to him, but it felt so good. The feeling was that of a triumphant victory of darkness against all those who had held him back from his true destiny.

Ronald Weasley was dead before he fell to the ground. His body was stiff from the after-effects of the curse. His eyes were wide with shock and terror as death ripped away the last of life's light. Harry stood over the body as a new wave of emotion rushed through him.

"Excellent, Harry, you're learning already," Voldemort encouraged as he led Harry on past the blood traitor's body and towards their black future together.

"I learned from the best."

"Indeed so, Harry. Now there is one more matter we must settle in order to make this completely official."

"Yes," Harry turned to the Dark Lord with a touch of curiosity in his voice.

"Hold out your left arm." Harry knew what was coming when Voldemort said those words. He braced himself to be labeled with the Dark Mark upon his forearm. He closed his eyes as the tip of Voldemort's wand touched his skin. A feeling of fire shot into his body as the mark stamped itself upon his arm. Harry struggled to maintain consciousness as the pain of the Dark Mark tainting his body and soul overwhelmed him. Quickly, all of the light in Harry's world diminished as he fell to the ground. Somewhere behind the veil of darkness, Harry heard himself screaming.


	2. Not To Punish Yourself

Chapter 2: Not To Punish Yourself

A beautiful brown owl flew above the treetops and then descended to glide between the street lights that bathed the nighttime sky with their luminous glow. The owl flew with accuracy and precision as it neared its destination. Landing perfectly on the window ledge, it in at the occupant of the bed. There, thrashing about, was Harry Potter. The owl hooted feebly, but the call went unanswered, save by the stillness of the night. Sensing a long wait ahead of it, the brown owl found a comfortable position on the ledge and tucked its head under its wing for a well deserved night's rest.

Harry tossed and turned in his four-poster bed. The nightmares of his past haunted him as he slept. He moaned and mumbled in his sleep while trying to stop some invisible force from doing something to his left arm. Suddenly he screamed and jolted upright. Sweat poured down his skin, and his breathing was ragged, as if he had been running for miles. After quickly reaching for his glasses, Harry turned the knob on the oil lamp all the way forward. The wick flared, and the brightly burning light erased the darkness from the room. Harry ripped back his sleeve to look at his left forearm. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as the only thing that he found was his own skin. There was no outline the Dark Mark.

Harry sat back down on the bed resting his head in his hands. His heart was still racing, but it was slowing down with every breath that he took.

"Bad dream, that's all it was, just a bad dream," Harry whispered to himself as he ran his hands through his hair. "Come on, Potter, get a grip on yourself. He's dead, and you know he is. It's all over with."

Ever since the war had ended, and Voldemort had been defeated, these nightmares had been an almost nightly occurrence. Harry sat on the edge of his bed with his eyes closed as he tried to force the images of the nightmare from his mind. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to focus on the items that were in his room. Jammed into the corner he saw his trunk with his clothes sprawled across the floor. Then he found the item that would help vanquish the last remnants of the nightmare. Lying across the back of a chair was the red and gold sweater that Mrs. Weasley knitted for him the previous Christmas. His memory drifted to the moment of opening his package and the amusement of everyone in the house as he put on his gift.

Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had offered to let him stay with Ron after the battle of Hogwarts. He didn't regret refusing their offer; intruding on the family's grief would have felt wrong, and it wasn't as if he had no home of his own. Here at Grimmauld Place, he had the solitude he needed. He didn't have to work hard to think of pleasantries or worry that something he said to someone would set off a chain of memories that ended in tragedy. He could not deny the fact that Grimmauld Place contained many painful memories for him as well; but it was home. It was his home. He knew that, right now, he was better off here.

The bedroom door opened and a small bat-like head with a long, crooked nose appeared. Around his neck, the owner of the head wore a golden locket that gleamed in the glow of the moon. "Master Harry screamed, sir?"

"Yes. It's nothing to worry about, Kreacher; just another bad dream. Sorry if I disturbed your sleep."

The old house elf glared long and hard at Harry. "Master Harry must rest peacefully. Kreacher will make master a nice cup of hot tea, and a midnight snack. Kreacher knows how Master Harry enjoys his onion soup."

"No, that really isn't necessary, I'll be al-" However, before Harry could finish this, Kreacher had already left the bedroom, and was walking to the kitchen. He sat on the edge of his bed a moment longer, before noticing the brown owl on his window ledge. The owl uncovered its head and hooted at Harry as he opened the window. The owl glided off of the ledge and landed on the bed.

"Well, who do you belong to?" Harry asked, as he untied the note attached to the owl's leg.

 

Harry,

I hope this note finds you well. It has been three weeks, and we have not heard from you since. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley want you to know that they offer you their love and support. We all hope you will come to visit us soon. We miss you very much. It doesn't do anyone any good to try to hide from everything, Harry. It is not your fault things turned out the way they did. I'm sure that if the Weasleys could speak to you they would tell you the same. I promised Ron that I would not drone on because I knew that you would feel some guilt over what happened at Hogwarts. This owl is yours. Ron talked me into buying him for you. His name is Ramses. Please write back as soon as you can.

Love,  
Hermione

 

Harry tucked the letter into the breast pocket of his nightshirt and met the bird's wide, yellow eyes. He didn't need an owl, as he didn't plan on writing to anyone. What was there to say? Knowing Hermione, she probably thought Harry needed the bird for company. Perhaps she was right, and he should be happy with his new familiar, but after Hedwig he had never wanted another owl. Ramses cocked his head, twitching one of his ear-like feather tufts, and Harry sighed in resignation.

"Well, Ramses...looks like you have a new home." The owl hooted and flew gracefully around the room before finally settling down on the top of Harry's wardrobe closet. "I'll get you some food and water in the morning, alright?" Ramses hooted once more before placing his head under his wing.

Harry proceeded out onto the stairs and down toward the kitchen. The smell of Kreacher's onion soup began to fill the vast space inside Grimmauld Place. Hermione's letter continued to swirl inside of his mind. It was true that he did not want to be bothered with the outside world. Seven years of being Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived"; and Harry Potter, "The Chosen One" had taken its toll. Since defeating Voldemort all Harry longed for was peace and quiet. Yet, since that life-changing night Harry had not been quite the same person. Somehow, he had changed. He could not exactly place his mind on precisely what it was, yet somehow he knew he was different from the Harry Potter of his past.

"Kreacher has prepared Master Harry's favorite, onion soup with steak & kidney pie." The house elf beamed with pleasure as Harry walked into the kitchen. Harry sat down to eat, as Kreacher brought forth the various food platters and bowls of soup. It was delicious. The food was so good that Harry temporarily forgot about the letter and the thoughts that went with it.

"Master has a note in hand," Kreacher observed as he took away the empty bowl of soup from the table.

"What? Oh, yes, Hermione sent it," Harry said as he continued eating.

"Master's friends have written to him after so long. Will Kreacher need to prepare the guest rooms for their arrival, Master Harry?"

"No, that isn't necessary. She hopes that I will visit them while she's staying at the Burrow." Harry scanned the letter once again and shook his head at Hermione's words. It is the same old thing, right Hermione? You'll never change. You mean well, but sometimes you just don't know when to give people their own space. "Bring a bottle of firewhiskey, Kreacher."

"Very well, Master Harry." Kreacher bowed low to the floor and began to turn around when Harry spoke.

"Kreacher, we have a new owl. His name is Ramses. Be sure to take him some food and water."

"Yes, Master Harry." The house elf ambled back to the kitchen to do as his mastered ordered.

Harry sat at the table eating and thinking of the events of the past few months. So much had changed and yet some things had not. Truthfully, Harry was ridden with guilt over the loss of Fred, Remus, Tonks, and the many others who had died just for him to have a chance to defeat Voldemort. It wasn't fair.

Why did so many have to die in order for one to live?

Why did Hermione always have to try to analyze everything about him and his feelings?

That was the main reason why Harry had insisted on being alone at Grimmauld Place. He didn't need the daily talks from Hermione about how he was feeling, or about letting go of his pain.

"I need my pain! I just want these damn nightmares to stop!" Harry said as he threw his firewhiskey to the floor. Kreacher came hurrying into the kitchen at the sound of the goblet hitting the floor and the anger in his master's voice.

"Master is angry with Kreacher?"

"No, I'm fine. Sorry about the mess in there, it's not your fault. I order you not to punish yourself, or to clean it up. I'll deal with it in the morning," Harry said angrily as he stormed back up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Once inside, he slammed the bedroom door and stomped over to the window. He gazed out at the moon, knowing that sleep would not be kind to him tonight. Not for the first time Harry wished that he had died along with Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again to everyone that stayed with the story through Chapter 1. Here you will see how the events of Chapter 1 connect with this chapter and the whole story.
> 
> As always please do feel free to comment on anything within the chapter. These are JK's characters.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None, except to sit back, read, and enjoy.


	3. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we really are able to get a good look into what it is like to be a Malfoy. In particular how Draco feels since the Battle of Hogwarts, and also Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

Chapter 3: Malfoy Manor

 

Far away from the never ending lights and sounds of London, Malfoy Manor sat nestled into the quaint Wiltshire countryside. It loomed over the nearby settlements not only because of its physical size but also its aristocratic grandeur. The same moon that Harry Potter gazed up into from his bedroom shown through the window of one Draco Malfoy. Any attempt to sleep was torture for Draco, as well. The young Slytherin lay in his bed with the moon bathing him in its radiant glow. He stared at the moon, lost in his own thoughts.

 

Since the battle of Hogwarts, his life had become even more miserable. The defeat of Voldemort signified a shift in power that would ultimately destroy his family and their legacy, his future legacy. It was all in thanks to "Saint Potter". Draco loathed the very thought that Potter had saved him in the Room of Requirement. It tainted him, adding a layer of shame over all of the other emotions tied to that filthy Gryffindor. He would never admit such things to his parents for fear of punishment from his father. Lucius Malfoy was a man who despised weakness especially coming from his own flesh and blood. The penalty for having let Potter escape would be the Cruciatus Curse.

 

Truthfully, he was glad that his parents had betrayed the Dark Lord. Draco understood that if Voldemort had been victorious, his family would have suffered, anyway, because of their past failures. The Malfoy family would have been used as a warning to Voldemort’s followers and the Wizarding World. The punishment would have been excruciating with no quick death in sight. 

 

Draco thought about how different life would be for him and his family. He focused on his own ambitions, and on what he wanted to do with his life. He knew that he had always wanted to travel on his own path, but he had become accustomed to life under his father’s influence. While he did not always agree with his father’s rules and choices, he did enjoy the power and the wealth that came with being a Malfoy. They were no longer forced to obey a dark lord anymore. They had their freedom from Voldemort’s tyranny. Could they live a life as a normal wizarding family? It was exciting and scary to know that for the first time in years his family could make a decision without fearing the wrath of Voldemort. How would the wizarding world respond to a Malfoy family that no longer had the power of Voldemort behind them? This single thought pained Draco the most knowing that he and his family would no longer be above all other wizarding families, even purebloods.

 

Frustrated at his own thoughts Draco threw back the covers and sat on the edge of his bed. His silk pajama pants shimmered, and the moonlight illuminated his pale skin. He reached for his nightshirt, not bothering to fasten the buttons, and he walked slowly to the window to look out upon the grounds below. It weighed upon him that Potter had saved his life. Yet, somewhere in a dark corner of a mental closet, he had some kind of mixed feelings about his House enemy. It pained Draco to even think this, but he almost wanted to thank Potter for what he had done. The only thing that Draco truly wanted was separation from the events that had brought him to where his life was at this moment. 

 

As if on cue, he heard his mother’s and father’s shouts carry to his room. Sounds traveled easily through the vastness of the manor, and this sound was very familiar to Draco. Since they returned home, his parents had argued constantly. Their bickering had grown more ridiculous each day with both of them arguing over the smallest of things. Draco was growing weary of his parents and their daily fights. His anger flared away from Harry Potter and toward his parents. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The parlor was aglow with flickering images thrown across the green walls. The harshly blazing fire cast a shadowy ambiance across the many Malfoy portraits that hung on the walls. A single ember crackled above the grate and flew out onto the ornate hearth rug that covered the oak floor. The ember was quickly smothered as a dark boot crushed it into the fibers of the rug. Lucius Malfoy scoffed as he lifted his boot from the rug sneering at the small burn mark upon it.

 

"Damn it!" The elder Malfoy snarled.

 

"What are you swearing at now, Lucius?" Narcissa Malfoy said as she hurried over to inspect the burn on the rug. 

 

"Nothing!” He stood and smoothed the front of his waistcoat. “You may continue your current tirade on...whatever triviality you were sniveling about.”

 

“What are we going to do about us Lucius? What are we going to do about our son? Since we have come back he has kept himself locked up in his room. He barely does eat, and we hardly do see him at all.” 

 

Having finished smoothing out the final wrinkle of his waistcoat he looked up at his wife who now was sitting on the large sofa, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “The boy will be fine, Narcissa. He is a Malfoy.” 

 

“How can you stand there and tell me that our son is going to be fine, when he has hardly spoken to us in the few weeks that we have been back at home?” 

 

Lucius stood calmly before his wife, yet on the inside of him the anger was beginning to boil. “Again, dear, Draco will be fine. He knows what is best for him. As soon as everything settles here we will have him go to Durmstrang like he should have to begin with.”

 

“Durmstrang!” Narcissa leaped off the couch. “Have you gone mad, Lucius? I will not have my son going to a place like that. You know yourself, Lucius that they focus only on schooling their students in the Dark Arts. You put our son’s life in danger the first time by associating with Voldemort, and I will not let you do that again!”

 

“Do not say his name, Narcissa,” Lucius growled, his anger now beginning to reach its boiling point. “Our son will go to Durmstrang, and that is final.” 

 

“What if he refuses?” Narcissa demanded. “What then? He is come of age Lucius, you cannot control him now.”

 

The elder Malfoy now stared directly at his wife with fire burning in his steely, blue eyes. “Our son...will do as I say. He knows better than to disobey me.” 

 

“And what about us, Lucius? Do you honestly think that the Wizarding world will view us as the same now that he is dead?” Narcissa asked as she paced the large living room. 

 

“I am already taking care of that little detail, dear. I still have certain contacts within the Ministry that will be very useful. They still know what power the Malfoy name carries with it.”

 

“Lucius, can you please stop trying to plan some sort of a scheme and let us live as a normal, pureblood family? I just want to raise our son in a normal, wizarding life!”

 

Lucius Malfoy curled his nose up at the very thought of having to be a normal family. “Is that really what you want Narcissa, to be normal? Do you not like your life right now? Do you really want to be a peasant?”

 

“You bloody fool, you are going to get us all killed with your ideas about power and continuing on with his ways. That’s why I am trying to talk some sense into that stubborn brain of yours!” She screamed.

 

"Sense? How do you call any of this sense, Narcissa?" He exclaimed, as he threw his hands up into the air. "The Dark Lord is dead! Bellatrix is dead! It's all over for us, and we are probably next in line! That is the reason why I have spoken to my contacts within the Ministry. If we do not take control and keep our power, we will be vulnerable.”

 

"Oh is that a fact? So tell me, just who is going to attack us? The Death Eaters, perhaps?” His wife scoffed. “They fled Hogwarts the moment Potter killed Voldemort."

 

"Don't you dare use the Dark Lord's name like that, woman!" Lucius snarled at his wife.

 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, he's dead! What is he going to do, come back from the dead and scare me?" 

 

"You stupid woman, you would not be speaking like that if he were still alive!" 

 

"Oh, that’s just fine! You know what dear, you...are...right!” She emphasized this as she poked his chest with each word. Lucius was taken back a bit by this behavior from his wife, and by the bitterness that he could see in her eyes. “I would not be talking like this if he were alive because we were all so afraid of him, and what he would do to us if we stood up to him. You are still scared of him even after he’s been defeated!" 

 

"Hold your tongue!" Lucius backhanded his wife across her face. She collapsed to the floor in shock, but drew her wand and pointed it directly at him. 

 

"That will be the last time you ever hit me again!" 

 

"Really? Are you going to curse me now, dear? Do you have the darkness within you to place an Unforgivable curse upon your own husband, an unarmed man?" Lucius raised an eyebrow, spread his arms, and thrust out his chest as if inviting an attack.

 

Narcissa refused to lower her wand as Lucius took a step toward her.

 

"Just remember who it was that gave you all of this and brought you from that shamble of a home. Who gave you wealth, Narcissa?! Who gave you gold, Cissy?! Who gave you your name!?” He let his arms fall back to his sides. 

 

Lucius watched Narcissa wilt. Her shoulders slumped and her mouth trembled. Unable to keep her eyes locked on his, she let her head droop and stared at his boots. With the force of his will, he had crushed her spirit once again. However, in his mind he knew that he could not keep having these kinds of confrontations with his wife without revealing his secret.

 

Weeping, Narcissa lowered her wand, and raised herself back to her feet.

 

"Y-y- ... it was you, Lucius." She sobbed as Lucius closed the distance between them and embraced his wife in a cold hug. She continued to sob into his shoulder as the elder Slytherin stroked his wife's hair.

 

"That's right my dear, it was me." Lucius said calmly, yet with enough menace in his voice that Narcissa knew that she could never again cross her husband. Lucius stared ahead at the landing of the stairs and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the disappearance of a silver and green robe.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Moments later Draco entered his room and silently locked the door with a spell. He spotted a small glass-framed picture of his father sitting on the desk in his room. Most people in pictures smiled and waved like idiots, but the tiny face of Lucius’s image remained frozen in a sneer. Every so often, he would shift his weight so that he leaned on his ornate silver cane, perhaps reminding his son that the walking stick could also be used for discipline. Draco’s jaw throbbed with remembered pain. Seconds later the picture flew across the room and shattered into many tiny fragments that lay upon the floor. He stood above the shattered remains of the picture his anger swelling now within his chest.

 

“Incendio!” Draco shouted, and the picture quickly became a smoldering pile of ash. 

 

Draco knew that he could not afford to wait any longer. If there were any further delays, his father might ruin his plans. Quickly, he grabbed a piece of parchment and held the quill above it. A small blotch of ink dripped onto the parchment as Draco’s thoughts ran to the irony of what this one letter could mean. Draco tilted his head to look at the small pile of ash that once was the picture of his father. A smirk only fitting for a Malfoy slowly spread across his face as finally the words began to pour from his quill. It was time for him to be a true Slytherin.


	4. Cause & Consequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters in this chapter are original characters. They are characters that I created for this story, that I feel would fit well within the world of Harry Potter. The antagonist in this chapter will play a significant role in this story. So everyone read and hopefully enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 4: Cause & Consequence

 

Many miles to the north of Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor, sat the small, sleepy muggle village of Kettlewell. It had been a quiet evening in the village, and a number of residents had turned in early for the night in preparation for the storm that approached. Watching from the doorway of his pub, an old man grunted a bit at the throbbing pain that had begun to flare within his bones. He watched the dark, puffy clouds trace across the nighttime sky hiding the moon at times.

 

“Yes, indeed we’ve got a mean gale coming up,” the old man said. “I’ve been feeling it in me bones now for days.” He glanced over at the stranger sitting at one of the tables. The old man had seen many different kinds of people come through his pub, but none of them compared to this individual. His instincts told him that this man was potential trouble, but being a businessman, the old man could not turn away a paying customer. 

 

The stranger had walked into The Olde Kette Pub an hour ago, ordered his drink, and sat down at the table. He stared through the window at the street outside, grunting or nodding occasionally in response to the old man’s questions.

 

Although he tried not to stare, the old man watched the stranger discretely, and had noticed several oddities about the man. He appeared to be young, probably around 30 or 35. Curly black hair, worn long and loose, draped down to the man’s shoulders in thick, greasy locks. The stranger was wearing what appeared to be a long coat of some kind, although the old man wondered why a person would wear a coat in the middle of the summer season. The man had on black, leather gloves, and there was an aroma of smoke and burned ash coming from the man as if he had been sitting next to a fireplace. He held his left hand around the base of the glass while his right index finger tapped a soft, steady pattern on the table. 

 

The old man found himself staring at the man, and he jumped when he heard someone call his name from across the street. 

 

“Evening, Milo,” he said, quickly recovering from being startled. If there was one person in this village that he was glad to see, it was his friend, Milo Mycroft. Milo had moved to the village a month ago, and had quickly struck up a good friendship with the old man. He was a regular customer at the pub, as he came in to have a drink at least once a day. Occasionally, the old man would see Milo and his wife walking along the village streets, and they would stop to have a conversation with the pub owner. 

 

“Top of the evening to you, Joe. Mind if I come in for a drink? The little lady is having her bridge group over this evening so that puts me out of the house until they leave.”

 

Joe placed his hand on Milo’s shoulder and stopped him from entering the pub. “Watch your step in there mate, there’s a queer fellow here that I got a bloody bad feeling about,” he whispered into Milo’s ear. They stood still for a few seconds before returning back to a more normal banter. Joe cleared his throat and said a bit too loudly. “I was about to start counting my stock for the night and close up, but as you can see I still have a customer here.”

 

Joe led Milo into the cozy pub, and walked behind the counter. Automatically, he reached for one of the tall amber bottles he kept on the top shelf just for Milo. “Your usual mead, I presume, or do you require something a bit stronger tonight?”

 

“For tonight Joe, I’ll take something quite strong,” Milo said as he turned his head to look at the stranger. He leaned forward on his barstool, his shoulders hunched and stiff, his hands clutching his knees so hard that his knuckles whitened. 

 

Something about Milo's posture reminded Joe of a dog with his hackles up, and the old man half-regretted frightening his friend with the warning about the stranger. Dirty hair and strange clothes certainly didn't make a man a criminal, did they? Joe tried to tell himself that the stranger was probably harmless, that the worst he would do was walk out without paying his tab, but even in Joe's mind, those assurances sounded unconvincing.

 

Joe placed the amber bottle back on the shelf, and reached under the counter for a bottle of scotch. Seconds later there was a full glass of scotch in front of Milo, as Joe made his way around the counter and to the front door. “Right, now I am closing up for the night. When I come back from counting me stock in the storeroom, I am going to ask you two gentlemen to leave out the back door then. Alright?”

 

The stranger nodded his head in assent, and continued to stare out the window as if fascinated by the gathering storm. Milo grunted agreement and took a drink of his scotch. Joe walked by Milo and nodded to his friend, as if in final warning about the stranger who was in the pub with them. 

 

 

When the storeroom door closed, Milo slowly picked up his glass of scotch and slowly drank the liquid. Its taste was like fire to his lips as he cherished every single drop. His hands trembled slightly as they held onto the glass. If the man by the window was truly who Milo thought he was, the drops of liquor he had just licked from his lips might be his last. Slowly, he turned around to look at the man. The one mark of identification that he needed to see was in plain sight upon the top of the man’s left wrist. The dragon tattoo stretched around a gleaming sword with its mouth open, and fire expelling outward onto the sword. Milo closed his eyes, thus allowing a flood of memories to come back to him. He could see it as if it had happened yesterday, the brutal slaying of his beloved Caroline by the man who now sat no more than a few feet away from him. He opened his eyes again and knew where his destiny lay. This once best friend, now an enemy, had fulfilled a promise from many years ago, and now the time had come to complete their journey.

 

Milo got up and walked across the room to the table where the stranger was. He sat down in the chair across from him and stared directly into the face. The black hair that fell below the man’s forehead partially shielded those black eyes that he remembered from his past. The face that once carried a youthful and handsome appearance had been made pale and sallow by time’s hand. The nose that Milo had broken in a playful duel still carried the crooked scars. The years had taken a toll upon the face, but Milo knew the features all too well.

 

“It’s been a long time, Phillipe,” Milo said in a low whisper. The man stopped gazing out the window and looked over his shoulder at the storeroom door. 

 

“No sudden movements,” Philippe spoke to Milo in a deep voice. He then produced a wand from his sleeve and waved it at the storeroom door. “Now, we can speak properly to one another.” He winked and grinned.

 

“I knew that you would not forget our promise.” Milo shook his head sadly. “I tried my best to disappear. Everywhere I went there was some sign that you were there or that you knew I was there. Finally, I gave up and decided to stay here. Something told me that it would not be long until you came.” As Milo spoke he watched Phillipe’s hand. 

 

Phillipe looked at his wand and put it away inside his robe. “You needn’t worry about that anymore, Milo, nor about our promise either. After tonight, you will have no more reason to fear.”

 

“But it is a promise we made when we became Death Eaters, we cannot go back on it now,” Milo stammered, “It was a blood promise that we made to the Dark Lord, and to one another.”

 

“Voldemort is dead, and the Death Eaters are no more.” Phillipe said, interrupting Milo. “I no longer work for him, and neither do you.” 

 

“But, I don’t understand? Who, who do you work for?” Milo asked as he stumbled over the words that tried to escape his lips.

 

Phillipe grinned and looked at his former Death Eater. “I work for the next highest bidder, and business is bloody well good right now.” 

 

Milo swallowed as a single bead of sweat traced down the side of his face. He hesitantly asked his next question. “Well…well then if you are not here to carry out our promise then why are you here following me?” 

 

“Can’t an old friend still say hello, Milo?” Phillipe asked very casually. “By the way, that is a particularly lovely disguise that you have there pretending to be a Muggle, and having a Muggle wife.” He drank from his glass, and continued on. “I never thought you would be the type of bloke to settle down, Milo.”

 

“You know that you and I are not friends anymore,” Milo said, as anger began to flush within his cheeks. His hand slowly crept to the breast of his jacket, where he kept his wand.

 

“Ah, now there you go bringing up the past again: it’s bad business to do so,” Phillipe mocked as he waved a single finger in front of Milo. 

 

“Was it bad business years ago when you killed the only love that I ever had?” Milo shouted. “I should kill you where you sit!”

 

Phillipe stopped his mockery and became very serious. He leaned forward, teeth bared, and with his gloved hands pressed together so that the dragon tattoo was facing Milo. “If you think you can kill me, then you had better do it now. Otherwise I will take what you just said as a threat. We both know how I react to threats, don’t we?”

 

Milo’s eyebrows furrowed in anger while his right hand reached into his left chest pocket for his wand. “You son of a--”

 

A streak of silver flashed through the air. Milo inhaled sharply, gasping as he felt the sensation of metal cutting across his throat. His eyes darted around wildly. He clutched at the space on his throat that was now soaked with blood, as he gagged and sputtered. His eyes quickly found his nemesis one last time as a large bolt of lightning exploded across the sky outside. Milo slumped face down onto the table. As Phillipe sat there watching, he cleaned the blood off of his silver dagger and released the spell that had been placed over the storeroom door. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Whew, I tell ya gentlemen, that sure was a loud blast of thunder out there. Thought for a moment that it had taken the pub with it.” The old man cackled at his own words. “Now it’s time to turn out for the ni...” Joe began to say, but stopped in mid-word at the sight before him. Milo Mycroft lay head down on the table. Blood had splattered onto the window, and had pooled on the floor below the chair. Joe stood rooted to the spot, frozen by the horror. His paper and clipboard tumbled weakly from his hands as he rushed over to the table. Carefully, he leaned Milo’s body back against the chair. “God, help us!” Joe said, as he covered his mouth, aghast the grisly scene before him.

 

“God?” The word came from behind Joe, and he turned to see the stranger standing with his arm raised, holding what appeared to be a gnarled stick.

 

Joe backed toward the window, his heart racing, his feet slipping on the blood. The stranger looked terrifying to Joe, like some evil warlock from a children’s story. He pointed the stick as if it were a firearm, and Joe’s lips began to move in silent prayer.

 

The stranger’s mouth curled into a smile that didn’t reach his dark eyes. Light flared around him in a frightening halo, and the last words Joe heard were, “God has nothing to do with this.”

 

“Muggles.” Phillipe spat, kicking the old man’s body to make sure he was indeed permanently silenced. 

 

He walked over to the dead body of Milo one last time.

 

“I always keep my promises,” he said, as he turned and apparated out of sight.


	5. Depth Of A Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 we get to explore Harry's thoughts a bit about Draco, and also we get to see things from Draco's point of view.

Chapter 5: Depth of a Feeling

 

It had been a very long night inside Grimmauld Place, too long for both occupants who slept there. The old grandfather clock in the hallway ticked with each passing second of the night. To the house elf, each second seemed like an eternity as he looked out of his little room and across the kitchen at the shattered glass on the floor. The spilled fire whiskey had begun to stain the floor, and it took all of the restraint that the house elf had within him not to go and do what his instincts told him that he should.

 

“Master Harry gave Kreacher orders not to clean up the mess,” Kreacher mumbled to himself as he paced over to the broken glass and looked at every single fragment. This was torture to the house elf, but he understood that he must remain loyal to his owner and do as he was instructed. 

 

It was difficult at times trying to understand humans, trying to figure out their emotions and reactions, their greed and their complexity. The house elf had begun to notice small changes with his new master. Harry was not quite the same person who had stayed here with his two friends before the Dark Lord had been defeated. True to form, the Harry Potter who had stayed here before would never have made a mess like this and walked away from it. The young man who came back to Grimmauld Place was emotionally hardened. He was more short-tempered, much like Kreacher’s old master, Sirius Black, had been at times. Yet, this new Harry Potter had not yet scolded or threatened Kreacher in any way. Still the house elf sensed a touch of darkness within him that had not been there previously. 

 

“All in due time, Master Harry,” the house elf said as he walked back to his bed. “The Dark Lord has left his imprint upon you forever, just like with Master Regulas.” 

 

Kreacher picked up a small, glass fragment and looked at his reflection with the shattered piece. The many fond memories of Regulas Black came to him as a single, solitary tear slid down the house elf’s face. He walked back to his small room in the kitchen carrying the piece of broken glass. “Yes, Master Harry, the Dark Lord will forever be linked to your soul, and it will kill you as it did Master Regulas.”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Harry awoke the next morning as sunlight shined in through the window and warmed his body. He had no idea of the time, but he did know that Kreacher had not awakened him, as he sometimes would if Harry slept too late into the morning. Harry had stayed awake last night staring at the moon, allowing the many emotions to course through his mind and body. He had thought about many things while looking at the magnificence of the moon, until finally he willed his thoughts away from it all and shut down his mind to sleep. 

 

Now looking at the brightness of the day, Harry guessed it might have been ten o’clock or even later. He remembered the previous night, the anger that had surfaced after reading Hermione’s letter, and also how uneasily Kreacher had looked at him as he stormed out of the kitchen. 

 

“Kreacher?” Harry said, as he got out of bed and made his way to his bedroom door. He reached the kitchen and stopped at the sight before him. To his relief, it was exactly as he had left it. Harry did not want Kreacher to have to do every single task that he was capable of doing himself. In Harry’s mind, he could envision Hermione scolding him for making a house elf do everything that a wizard was more than capable of doing. 

 

‘S.P.E.W. Potter, S.P.E.W ’

 

“Kreacher!” The sound of his name brought the house elf out from his bed, and into the kitchen.

 

“Master Harry is awake. Kreacher has obeyed your order, and has not touched the broken glass and drink left by him. Kreacher hopes that master is pleased?” 

 

“Kreacher, I’m sorry for putting you through that last night. I lost control of myself for a moment, and I know it was difficult for you to do what I said.”

 

The house elf nodded and shuffled his feet slightly. “Master shouldn’t apologize to Kreacher. May Kreacher clean up the broken glass and drink?”

 

Before Kreacher could begin to pick up the broken pieces of glass, Harry brandished his wand, repaired the glass and cleaned up the spilled fire whiskey on the floor with a cleaning spell. 

 

“No, Kreacher. I’ve cleaned up my own mess.” 

 

Kreacher scowled at the freshly magic-polished floor, looking disappointed at being denied the opportunity to scrub, and do more work. After a long put-upon sigh, he said, “Very well, sir, now would Master Harry prefer a late breakfast or an early lunch today?” 

 

“Lunch sounds nice, Kreacher. I have a few things to do in the meantime and will be in the library, or in my bedroom.” 

 

Harry’s “things” that he spoke of to Kreacher would involve his friends at the Burrow. It was time that he came out of his shell and spoke to them, no matter how difficult it may be to express his feelings. He knew that it was time to move forward, yet there was still a feeling of dread. It would not be easy to explain to Ginny that he did not love her anymore, not in the same way that she loved him. Nor would it be easy to be around the only people still alive who considered him their son. 

 

Harry sat down at the large desk within the library and placed his head within his hands. He knew that this visit would not be easy, but he hoped that the Weasleys would somehow understand. 

 

His thoughts quickly raced to Draco Malfoy and the thought of how good it had felt to have his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist. No—“good” was a lie; it had felt bloody wonderful, better than snogging Ginny. Admitting that made him feel sick, frightened and excited all at the same time. He felt his face heat and a jolt like a mild, pleasurable, electric shock ran through his body. Harry wondered if Draco thought about him in the same way that he now thought of Draco. 

 

Of course not, Potter! Even if Draco were capable of such an attraction, he’s still a Slytherin! You’re mutual enemies. 

 

Harry nodded feeble agreement as his inner voice of reason spoke to him. As always, the voice of reason was right, but that did nothing to stop the litany of “what ifs” that played in the back of his mind. What if Draco had changed since the battle of Hogwarts? What if he realized there was nothing left to keep them apart? What if he wanted--

 

The voice of reason interrupted, derailing that train of thought before it could arrive at a full-blown fantasy. Draco hates you. He would probably  
unleash the cruciatus curse if he even suspected you fancied him.

 

Harry raised his head up and looked into the palms of his hands. Draco had made the first offer. He had extended his hand to Harry in friendship many years ago, and Harry had refused to shake his hand. Now, his palm virtually itched with the need to feel Draco’s hand in his.

 

“We could have been friends all of this time,” Harry said, as he stared into the mirror that stood opposite from the desk. “Why do we hate one another? Who says that Gryffindors and Slytherins must be mutual enemies?” 

 

Harry knew within his heart that he did not hate Draco Malfoy. Perhaps he should after all the things that Draco had done and said over the years, but somehow none of those things seemed important. His most vivid impression of Draco was that of a frightened young man driven by forces beyond his control and willing to do anything to save his father. Even if his mind were not clouded with lust, he could not have hated that young man. Harry’s thoughts traveled to his dead parents, and he knew that he would do anything to save them if they were still alive today. He stood there looking into the mirror, meeting his reflection’s eyes.

 

What would it have been like if we were friends? Could we have been more than friends? Could we actually be lovers today?

 

The fire within his mind blazed to life as he thought of the memory from the Room of Requirement. For a brief moment as Harry stared directly into the mirror, he envisioned a pair of blue-grey eyes staring back at him.

 

“You’re a bloody fool, Potter,” Harry berated himself. “A damned bloody fool.”

 

Draco Malfoy was choking. The thick, heavy smoke surrounded him and took away the air from his lungs. The heat from the flames was unbearable as they grew higher and closer to him. The roar was deafening, and the young Slythein knew that this was how it would end for him. He would die of asphyxiation. His thoughts were of his mother and of his future plans, but death’s grip would soon snatch those thoughts away. Then the scorching flames would burn his flesh to the bone, leaving nothing but a charred skeleton. He could only hope that the people who were in here with him would suffer his same fate. Draco closed his eyes and awaited his grisly demise. Even though his mind had conceded defeat, his lungs struggled on, dragging the thick corrosive air into his body. His chest felt as if some monster were inside it, fighting to escape. His eyes streamed, and the tears stung like acid. He wanted to scream, but the smoke had ravaged his vocal cords, and the roar of the flames swallowed his weak, rasping cries.

 

He waited almost eagerly for the smoke to finally choke the breath completely out of him, and then to feel the beginning of the flames burning him. He waited on death’s presence to take him, to take the pain away. He felt a heavy grip around his waist and knew this was probably the beginning of the end for him. In his mind this grip was death saying hello to him. Instead of falling to the ground in a smoking, burning heap, it felt as if he were soaring into the air, getting farther away from the smoke and the heat. If this was death, Draco felt that it at least was a peaceful prelude to what he had thought it would be like. Rather than feeling the burn of the fire, it was like gently falling asleep while rising through the air. He heard a voice telling him to hold tight, and suddenly Draco knew that voice all too well. It was him! It was Harry Potter, and he had just saved Draco’s life. Draco looked down at the fire below, and then he raised his face to look at the back of his savior, but instead of seeing Potter he was staring into the red, slit-like eyes of the Dark Lord.

 

Draco’s eyes darted around the room looking for the fire, but it was not there. Instead he was back at his home, in Malfoy Manor. His mother was sitting to the side of him, her head bowed, and her eyes downcast save for the occasional glance at her son. Draco looked at his left forearm and saw the dark mark glistening against his pale skin. 

 

“So, Draco, you will complete this task for me and kill Albus Dumbledore,” Voldemort said, as he sat down in the chair opposite Draco, stroking the head of the huge snake as if it were a playful kitten. “Yes, you will do this or you and your family will suffer my wrath!” 

 

“Y..yes m..my Lord,” Draco stammered as he braved a quick glance at the man sitting in the chair in front of him. 

 

“Do not fail me, or else you will all suffer mightily.” 

 

Draco did not look at the man this time, as his eyes began to tear. He tried to stop the tears from flowing, but nothing the young Slytherin could do would stop them. He knew what he had to do. He had to kill to prove himself faithful to the Dark Lord, and to save his family from being tortured and murdered. Voldemort sat in the chair with his right hand tapping the table as if his finger were a clock ticking down the seconds left in Draco’s life. The young Malfoy heard this and knew there was no way out of the situation. He could hear the steady tapping of his own death march. 

 

The surroundings began to swirl around in a mixture of color as Draco felt himself blacking out. Even through the blackness he could still hear that sound of Voldemort’s fingers tapping the table. Draco screamed only to open his eyes and have them flooded with light. He sat upright panting and sweating profusely. The young Slytherin looked around him taking in his surroundings. He was in his room, in his four poster bed, black, silken pajamas plastered to his pale skin. Standing across the room was a full length mirror, and Draco saw his own image reflected back at him. His chest was heaving as he slowly gained control of his breath, his thoughts, and his emotions. Suddenly, he heard it, that same knocking sound that was in his dream, but this time it came from his bedroom door.

 

“What!” Draco screamed at the door. 

 

“Master Draco?” A small, squeaky voice came from the other side of the door, “Master Draco screamed, sir. Is young master Draco alright?” 

 

“Yes, Kraven...I’m alright, now go away,” Draco said, as he continued to regain his composure from his dreams. 

 

“Young Master Draco is requested by his father in the study, as soon as he has awakened.” 

 

“What? Why?” His father was the last person he wanted to talk to after hearing and witnessing his parents’ argument the previous night. However, instead of avoiding him, Draco knew it was best not to incur his father’s temper. “Oh...alright, tell him I will be there shortly.” 

 

“Very good, sir.” With that, the house elf left the bedroom door and Draco alone with his thoughts. 

 

Draco looked down at the remains of the picture of his father that he had destroyed. “Father,” Draco said as if the word were poison to his tongue. “Yes, father let’s do have a little talk.”


	6. Purebloods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoys reading this chapter and as always please do leave a comment after a chapter.

Chapter 6: Purebloods 

 

“Sometimes you are nearly as difficult as your mother. Do you know that, Draco?” Lucius Malfoy spoke to his son, but did not bother to raise his eyes from the letter that he was writing. “There are times when she becomes too ambitious for her own good, and thus she must be reminded of certain…things,” the elder Malfoy said as he continued to write upon the parchment that was upon his desk.

 

Draco wanted to argue with his father, but knew better than to defy Lucius. Instead, the younger Malfoy ignored the remarks and focused on the desk and the room in which he stood. It was a beautiful room, but one that he had rarely been allowed to enter. Along the entire length of the wall behind the desk were shelves upon shelves of books. Many of them were books about advanced dark magic, artifacts from pureblood wizarding families, Ministry of Magic information, and old wizarding history. A number of titles intrigued Draco, such as, Secrets of the Darkest Art, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, A Guide to Medieval Sorcery, and Asiatic Anti-Venoms. 

 

The desk was a magnificent brown, mahogany wood, with gold trim in the form of snakes all around the edges and the legs. His father continued to concentrate on his work and ignore his son, who was standing in front of him. The intense scratching of the quill along the parchment was the only audible sound within the room.

 

Draco stood stoically, though he wanted to shout something about how Lucius had dragged him out of bed to bring him here and now had the unimaginable arrogance to ignore him. He folded his arms across his chest and allowed his mind to wander, seeking escape. He thought of things he wanted—being lord of Malfoy Manor, having other wizards wither in his presence, seeing that smug mudblood, Potter brought to his knees and taught his place. 

 

Potter.

 

The thought of the name brought to mind a quick, visceral image of Potter on his knees with Draco directly behind him. The image simultaneously excited and sickened him, and every time it invaded his brain, he felt unclean. Draco quickly closed his eyelids. He lightly inhaled as he tried to force the insidious image from his mind. 

 

The quill stopped writing as Lucius slowly looked up at his son with a raised eyebrow while folding and sealing the letter with the Malfoy crest. Draco tried his best not to blush in the presence of his father. If Lucius knew what kind of a thought had just crossed Draco’s mind, he would kill him. 

 

Lucius continued to look at his son. Finally, after a few seconds that somehow seemed like hours, he began the conversation. “I know that you heard and saw what happened last night,” Lucius started, as he looked into Draco’s eyes. “I want you to know that I would not hurt your mother, but, at times, she can get too many ideas into her mind.”

 

Lucius calmly picked up the parchment and blew onto the wax that the crest had been stamped upon. “I cannot simply allow your mother to threaten me as she did last night. She knows that the Dark Lord left me without a wand, and she has used this fact in a fashion unbecoming of a wife.” 

 

“I know about your new wand, Father,” Draco replied very softly.

 

“Oh?” Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steeping his fingers. His lips curled into the unpleasant smile he used to hide his temper. “And how do you know about it?” 

 

“I know you have had it with you for some time now. It’s on the inside of your cloak. You did not tell the Dark Lord about it, because…well, because you feared what he would do to us.” Draco stopped himself, afraid that if he said anything more Lucius would consider it insolence. 

 

The elder Malfoy hated being reminded of his own cowardice, and his irritation showed in the almost imperceptible twitch of his left eyelid. “Have you told your mother about this, Draco?” Lucius’s hand crept toward his chest as if to confirm the presence of his hidden wand.

 

“No,” Draco sternly replied.

Lucius sighed with relief. 

 

“Good, then let us keep it that way.” Lucius spread his palms on the table and leaned back into his chair, offering a conspiratorial grin. “I always knew that having two wands would one day be very useful for me. The Dark Lord was at times too involved with the Potter boy. He allowed himself to be distracted by Potter and the Prophecy, therefore his attention was not always where it belonged. Instead of trying to rule the Wizarding world as he should have been, he was too busy focusing his mind and energy on trying to find a way to defeat Potter.”

 

Lucius looked down at the Dark Mark on his left forearm and Draco followed his father’s eyes. Since the defeat of Voldemort, and the breaking of the spell, the mark had begun to fade, yet it was still clearly visible. “Well now, we see where that got him, don’t we?” Lucius asked. 

 

Draco instinctively reached over and lightly rubbed his left forearm as if the Dark Mark had begun to burn once again on his skin. “Yes, and it got us rid of him, too.”

 

Lucius closed his eyes momentarily and exhaled a deep breath. When he spoke next, his mouth curled into a sneer and his voice took on a note of impatience. “You still do not understand everything about the Dark Lord, Draco! There are still Death Eaters out there who have not been captured. They are still loyal to the Dark Lord and will continue his work; or at least they will try to continue his work in some form.”

 

Draco nodded slowly, gathering courage for what he wanted to say next. A question had been gnawing at him ever since the battle of Hogwarts. He had been too afraid to ask Lucius, partly because any accusation of weakness could infuriate his father and partly because he feared he would not like the answer. 

 

“The Ministry, Father, what about them? Will they not capture them all, and...and us as well?” Draco asked, looking down at the desk instead of his father’s face. “I only did what he forced me to! He…he blackmailed me into joining the Death Eaters! He said I had to join or else he would kill us all, he said I had to kill for him, or else he would kill you!” Draco raised his chin and looked Lucius in the eyes again. “I did it to protect you, and now the Ministry will want to kill me for it!”

 

Draco’s voice had risen to a shout, and now that the words were out, he panted, out of breath from his outburst. His mind spun with visions of being dragged before a tribunal. He imagined himself, Lucius, and Narcissa all chained, helpless as the dementors devoured their souls. Simply voicing his fears to his father had made them more real, and to his own horror, he felt a tear escape from his left eye. He tried to ignore the tear, hoping his father would not notice, but another soon followed it. The shame of crying in front of Lucius only hastened the flow of tears, and when he tried to take a deep breath it turned into a long, choking sob.

 

Draco expected Lucius to spew something about Malfoy men being better than this, but instead, his father calmly rose from behind the desk and came to stand to the left of Draco. His face unreadable, Lucius raised his hand and gently let his fingertips rest on his son’s left shoulder. Moving slowly and cautiously, he flattened his hand and brought it across Draco’s back until it cupped his right shoulder. The weight of Lucius’s arm across his back and the warmth of his body felt unexpectedly soothing, and some of the fear began to recede. Draco froze, afraid that if he moved or spoke, the moment would be broken and Lucius would push him away, snarling insults.

 

“And now, I, in turn, must protect you,” Lucius whispered. He guided Draco around the desk, removed his arm from Draco’s shoulder, and gestured to the chair. “Sit down, Draco.”

 

Draco sat down in his father’s chair and slowly began to collect himself. The elder Malfoy conjured another chair and sat down beside him, waiting for his son to calm down enough to listen.

 

“Now, Draco, there is one more thing I have to say, and it is very important.” Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked into his father’s grey eyes. Now that the tears were cleared away he could see with preternatural clarity, and Draco could make out the fear in his father’s eyes. “The Death Eaters that are still loyal to the Dark Lord, and I am sure that by now they know of what happened at Hogwarts. They will know that your mother and I did not fight alongside them. The Dark Lord’s agenda was never as important to us as the Malfoy legacy—as you. The Death Eaters will want to make us pay for our disloyalty.” 

 

“And what are we going to do about it?” Draco asked.

 

Lucius sighed a bit before speaking once again. “The legitimate wizarding world is not all too pleased with our family name either, but I have been assured by the Minister that protection will be given to us. Shacklebolt has given me his word.”

 

“So...Shacklebolt is the new Minister of Magic?” Draco asked, very stunned by this news. “Father, how can we trust Shacklebolt when he was a member of the Order? How can he be in charge of the Ministry?” 

 

“Yes, I am afraid it is true. After the battle, things have begun to change at the Ministry, and we must adapt with those changes, but never forget son, who and what you are. You are a Malfoy, you are a Slytherin, and most importantly you are my son!” 

 

“But why?” Draco wondered. “Why would Shacklebolt help us instead of sending us to Azkaban?”

 

“Because I told him that I would give him reliable information and locations of the Death Eaters who were still unaccounted for. In return, I asked for protection from the Ministry, and for our family name to be restored with honor. I did it, son, to protect you and your future.” Lucius covered one of Draco’s hands with both of his and squeezed in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. Draco studied his father’s face and swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. 

 

“Now Draco,” Lucius began after removing his hands. “I do have plans for our family, but it will take some time for those plans to begin. These plans will benefit us and restore our name to its rightful place in the wizarding world.” 

 

As Lucius spoke he motioned for Draco to rise from the chair. He then walked with his son to the door of the office with his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I want you to begin those plans by getting to know Harry Potter.” 

 

Draco felt a cold lump form in his stomach. His mouth went dry, and a sort of electric charge shot through his spine. How could Lucius ask this of him, especially after he had already proven his loyalty as a son by his willingness to kill? Potter was a Gryffindor, and besides, he was an insufferable prat, puffed up with the fame that his good luck had brought him. Now that he was the hero of the battle of Hogwarts, he would probably be even worse than he was before. Draco had already offered a hand to Potter once and had been refused. What could he, a failed Death Eater, possibly say to the famous Harry bloody Potter? 

 

As these thoughts and questions swirled in Draco’s mind, a familiar image forced its way back through. This time the image was not still, but moving, responding eagerly to Draco’s imagined attentions. Draco shook his head in order to refocus upon his question to his father.

 

“Get to know him, Father?” Draco replied, his voice rising with incredulity.

 

“Yes, I know it goes against everything you have been taught as a Slytherin, but I think he can be a very useful ally for us. It would present our name in a whole new light, and the wizarding world would respond favorably to us. What better person to align ourselves with than ‘The Chosen One’?” 

 

Lucius opened the door to the study. Draco turned one last time to look at his father and nodded reluctant agreement, unable to refuse him. Lucius had turned on his fellow Death Eaters in order to protect the Malfoy family; Draco could do his part in turn.

 

As Draco made his way back to his room, he brooded over the prospect of meeting Harry again, trying to think of something, anything, that he could say or do that would not make Potter laugh at him or hate him even more. By the time he reached the door, he had begun to form a plan. 

 

Molly Weasley had seen and been through quite enough in her lifetime. She knew the horrors of war and the emotions that came at its expense. Families were never quite the same; people were not quite the same ever again. Some would be able to cope better than others, but a number of wizards and witches would simply fail. As a young witch she had made a promise to herself that she would survive at all costs, and that later, once she had a family, they too would survive and move forward even if another war ever were to occur. Now that the war had come to pass, Molly found herself struggling to keep her promise.

 

She had lost a son in the battle, and she had regained a son too, yet the loss and pain in her heart would never cease. The best she could do now would be to keep her family moving forward, and not to look back upon the past. The funeral had come and gone for Fred, and the family had begun to rebuild itself; except for Ginny, who spent an unhealthy number of hours at the window, watching for owls.

 

Molly knew of her daughter’s relationship with Harry Potter, and while she approved of it, she was still very cautious about it. Her motherly instincts told her that something had happened to her daughter’s boyfriend because of this war. Harry’s isolation and refusal to communicate with anyone told Molly that even though he had vanquished Voldemort, that there was still plenty of weight on Harry’s shoulders; maybe even more than before. 

 

The fireplace roared forth with its green light as Ginny Weasley stepped out of it and brushed the soot off of her shoulders. “Mum, I’m home!” 

 

“Up here dear,” her mother replied from a distant room upstairs. “I’m in the bedroom.”

 

Molly Weasley had just finished dusting the bedside table with the Muggle feather duster. The dust hovered in the air, tickling Molly’s lungs with each inhalation, and she coughed as she watched the bedroom door open. A breeze blew through the now-open door, and Ginny’s loose, red locks were swept into the room an instant before Ginny herself followed, swiping at her face and tucking the wayward strands behind her ears. A lump rose in Molly’s throat as she remembered brushing those same locks and braiding them into neat pigtails.

 

“Ah Ginny, just in time, love. Be a dear and help me with the bed sheet,” Molly said as she stifled another cough. “Goodness know how long it has been since this room has been properly cleaned.” 

 

Ginny rolled her eyes in disgust but took the corners of the sheet and helped pull it across the bed. “Mum!” Ginny groaned. “Why can’t you just use your magic?”

 

Molly shrugged and forced herself to smile. They had had this conversation before, and with Ginny’s stubbornness, they probably would again. Even so, Molly did not feel like explaining how her magic felt tainted now that she had used it to kill. If pressed, she would say that she had decided that Arthur was right, and doing things the Muggle way was fun. In a way, that was true. The simple, physical process of dusting the table, smoothing the sheets, and stuffing the pillows into their cases was soothing. It gave Molly time to think about things without having to revert to using magic. Next, she might try kitting a sweater with her hands.

 

“How are George and Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she tucked the corner of the blanket around the bed. “Still making plenty of money there at the shop?”

 

“Yes, Mum. They both are doing well and send their love to you,” Ginny replied as she began tucking the opposite corner of the blanket. 

 

“That’s good. Did Ron say if he was going to come over this weekend and go to the Chudley Cannons game with your father? I know they both have been looking forward to that for some time now.” 

 

“He said that he hoped to, but it will depend on how business is at the shop. They are doing quite well now, and have a new series of products that they’ve just finished.”

 

Molly Weasley just shook her head in acknowledgment, as she had finished with the bed and was now attending to the curtains in the room.   
“Dear me, the state of this room, I don’t know how I ever let it go this long without a good cleaning.” Molly muttered, scowling at the cobwebs which flourished in the folds of the drapes. They had collected an impressive amount of dust. “Simply filthy!” She flapped her hands, beating ineffectively at the fabric and succeeding only in raising clouds of dust. “Gin, hand me that duster, please.”

 

Ginny handed the Muggle duster to her but did so with a loud, noisy sigh that conveyed her irritation. “Mum, please stop working so I can talk to you,” Ginny pleaded. “Diagon Alley is really beginning to look like its old self again. You should come and see it. All of the businesses are back, even Ollivander’s! It would do you a bit of good, Mum, to get out of the house for a bit.” 

 

“That’s wonderful dear,” Molly muttered as she pretended to ignore the last part of what Ginny had said. She saw that Ginny had sat down on the edge of the newly-made bed, clutching one of the pillows to her chest. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes looked unfocused. Ever since the battle of Hogwarts, Ginny seemed to slip in and out of these reveries, bubbling one moment and brooding the next.

 

“Mum?”

 

“Yes, dear?” Molly sighed, brushing her hands on her skirt to clean them.

 

“I ....I want to talk about Harry.” 

 

“Oh, Ginny, I know you miss him very much,” Molly said as she sat down on the bed beside her daughter and took Ginny’s hands in hers. She sighed for a moment before she started to speak. Molly had been waiting for this conversation, but not looking forward to it. 

 

“Mom, I think I loved Harry, but now....now I don’t know,” Ginny said as she looked Molly in the eyes. “It’s like another part of me is saying that I don’t love him, yet I know that I do! I just feel so confused right now. I’ve tried to give him time, but he doesn’t respond to any of our letters. Often times I’ve wanted to just go to Grimmauld Place and demand to know why he isn’t speaking to us, especially to me!” 

 

The tears had begun to stream down the young Weasley’s face. Molly just held her daughter close to her bosom. She rocked with her daughter back and forth trying to comfort her just as she had done when Ginny was a small child.

 

“Yes, I know Ginny, love. I know that you loved Harry, and that for a time he loved you as too. I’ve known it for years now especially in the way you both would look at one another, and act around each other. It was puppy love at its finest. Then...well then you both started to grow up. You took an interest in other boys while Harry was busy dealing with You Know Who, and all of the horrible things like that.”

 

Ginny broke apart from her mother’s embrace with a mild, surprised look upon her face. “You...you knew, Mum?” 

 

Molly beamed a smile at her daughter as she wiped away a tear that had flowed down Ginny’s cheek. “Of course I knew. Harry...he loved you too. Just look what he did in the Chamber of Secrets for you! He risked his life for you, and then again when he asked you to stay out of the battle. He was showing you his love; maybe not in a kiss, but with his own words, and feelings.” 

 

“Why will he not answer any letters, then?” Ginny sobbed. 

 

“Dear, honestly I don’t know. War changes everyone. It is one of the most horrible things a person can live through. Sometimes I wonder if the dead truly are the fortunate ones, and we, the survivors are the ones that have to suffer the most.” 

 

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she shook her head in disagreement. Shock seemed to staunch the flow of tears, and after a long, defiant sniff, she said, “That’s a terrible thing to say, and it’s no excuse for ignoring me!” 

 

Molly squeezed Ginny’s shoulder and smiled, glad to see some of her daughter’s fire rekindled. “I cannot tell you if things between you and Harry will ever be the same. Even if you do love each other, there are different kinds of love, and one can change into another.” Molly could see tears beginning to from in her daughter’s eyes once again, but Ginny held them back for now. “I can only hope that he does contact us soon, and that you two can pick up where you left off.” 

 

“I’ll make sure we do!” Ginny agreed. “And I’ll make sure he tells me what’s kept him away for so long.”

 

“Ginny,” Molly said as she squeezed her daughter’s hand, “I don’t believe that forcing Harry to open up and talk to us is the right thing to do. He will speak to us when he is ready. Forcing things with him will only push him away. When he’s ready, we must be here for him, with our arms open for him. Then, when that happens, we all can move forward hopefully as a family.”

 

Ginny looked at her mother and then hugged her. Molly Weasley knew that her hopes had little chance of being true. Somehow she knew already, but could not bear to tell her daughter.

\---------------------------------------------------

 

The last bit of ink fell from the quill onto the parchment as the letter was completed. The breath gently blew down onto the parchment to dry it so that there would be no stain or smudging of any kind. Eyes scanned it one last time for any errors, and then the parchment was rolled neatly and tied with the string. The contents of this letter were extremely important to the parties involved, and would begin to set in motion a new series of events. Looking down at the owner of this letter was the large, brown owl with its golden-yellow eyes. 

 

“You know where to take this to, and whom to deliver it to?” The owl looked at its owner and hooted. “Excellent.” The window opened and the owl took flight.


	7. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! A very fun chapter to write, and I hope that everyone has alot of fun reading it. All the thanks in the world to you.

Chapter 7: Revelations

 

“Bloody hell!” Ron wailed as he and Arthur walked down the path toward the Burrow. “Come on, Dad, you know they cheated! The bastards had to have cheated!” 

 

Ron’s eyes were wide with disappointment, and when he finished his tirade, his mouth settled into a tight-lipped pout reminiscent of his toddler days. The effect was simultaneously exasperating and humorous. If Ron were to stomp his feet and burst into tears, the regression would be complete, and Arthur would be unable to keep himself from laughing. As it was, he could not quite suppress a wry smile. 

 

Arthur struck his son with a playful slap to the back of the head.  
“Ron, watch your mouth! If your mother heard you talking like that she would conjure up a bar of soap and wash your mouth out!” 

 

“Yeah, but Dad, you saw it…I mean we all did. That flash of lightning didn’t occur at that moment naturally, did it? I still say they cheated!”

 

“Ron, please for the third time since we left the stadium, stop going on about it. Yes, I saw it, but you can’t prove that Tutshill cheated. It was raining, Ron. Lightning flashes do happen during rainstorms.”

 

“One,” Ron waved his right hand in the air with his index finger extended. “One bloody lightning flash, Dad, during the whole game, and it was right at the end when Chudley almost had the snitch! If that isn’t cheating, then I don’t know what the bloody hell is!” Ron folded his arms across his chest and nodded vigorous agreement with himself.

 

“Ron, please, for the last time stop, your swearing before I conjure up a bar of soap myself!” 

 

“Fine, then. I’ll write a blood—I’ll write a letter to the Quidditch commissioner telling him what the blood—what happened. Tutshill will have to forfeit, and that’ll show them!” Ron pounded his right fist into his left palm and quickened his pace, obviously eager to get to his parchment and quill.

 

Arthur took hold of Ron’s sleeve and planted his feet, stopping his son in his tracks. “Just a moment, Ron.” Red-faced with his outrage over the match, Ron pivoted to face his father.

 

“What? Dad, let go!” Ron pleaded.

 

Arthur took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. His amusement had turned to suspicion, and when he opened his eyes, he struggled to keep his face neutral and his voice even,

 

“Ron, please tell me that you did not bet on that match?” 

 

Ron wilted. His head drooped, and he shuffled his feet, muttering the words, “Yes, sir,” to his shoes.

 

Arthur sighed and tilted Ron’s chin up so that he could look his son in the eyes. “How much?”

 

“Fifty galleons,” he said. “But I can get it back Dad, real soon, because our new product is going to be a big seller!” 

 

Arthur staggered slightly as the amount of the wager hit him. “Fifty galleons? Ronald Weasley! Do you realize, son, what we could do with that amount of money? And, here you are gambling it on a Quidditch match?” Now Arthur was the one whose arms were folded across his chest.

 

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean any harm by it. You let Fred and George bet at the Quidditch World Cup,” Ron muttered as a defense.

 

“I don’t care, Ron. I do not want you doing anymore gambling, is that understood?” Arthur wagged a finger in warning to Ron. “If you land yourself in trouble over this, then don’t expect your mother and I to come bail you out. You made your mess, you clean it up.”

 

“Yes, sir. I won’t bet anymore on Quidditch.” 

 

This met Arthur’s approval and they continued walking toward the Burrow. Ron kept trying to suggest that Quidditch be played indoors inside a domed stadium, like they have in America. Arthur could only laugh and wonder why anyone would want to play Quidditch like that. However, the idea of a domed stadium did sound somewhat intriguing from a spectator’s perspective. 

 

Arthur and Ron found Molly in the kitchen, surrounded by ingredients and an array of Muggle cooking tools. Frowning in concentration, Molly was using one hand to chop an onion while stirring a pot of soup with the other hand. Arthur leaned against the doorway and watched in fascination. With only her hands, his wife was able to operate the spoon and knife almost as deftly as she could with magic. Once she had finished chopping the onion and poured the chunks into the soup pot, Arthur came to stand behind her and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

 

“My lovely Molly-Wobbles,” Arthur whispered into Molly’s ear. 

 

“Arthur,” Molly blushed. “Not in front of Ron, dear.” 

 

Molly hugged Ron before he could walk past her. Ron greeted his mother with a “hello” and a hug of his own, then pulled out a chair at the table and sat down to nibble on a loaf of bread.

 

“So how was the game?” Mrs. Weasley asked as she stirred the contents of the soup pot. 

 

“It was a raining nightmare, Mum,” Ron said, mumbling around the bread still in his mouth. “Poured rain on us, but as usual...Chudley lost.”

 

“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that dear. I know that you had hoped they would win today.” Molly turned to continue speaking to both of them, when Ron interrupted her.

 

“Mum, why do you have that in your hand, that big, wooden spoon thing?” 

 

“Just trying something new, dear.” Molly waved the spoon cheerfully and flashed a smile before sticking it back in the pot and stirring with large, exaggerated strokes. “I blame it all on your father.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes and laughed. “Dad, you’ve created a monster!”

 

“You’re mother is as clever as a Muggle, Ron!” Arthur squeezed his wife’s shoulders and lightly kissed her again on her cheek. “Why, she’s discovered the true use of some of the most puzzling Muggle artifacts. Take this one, for example.” Arthur held up by its handle a rectangular, metal object with a regular array of holes punched in it. “I thought it was some sort of a musical instrument, that is, until I cut my hand on its sharp edges that are around those holes. But, it turns out it’s for… What was it again?” Arthur paused as he tried to remember what he had seen Molly do with the contraption.

 

“Grating carrots, dear,” Molly supplied.

 

“Grating carrots!” Arthur repeated, turning the thing left, then right, trying to envision how it worked. “Genius! And here I had decided it was some sort of medieval torturing device, what with these little razor sharp holes. A fascinating Muggle creation.”

 

“Brilliant,” Ron said, rolling his eyes again.

 

Arthur opened his mouth to admonish his son for failing to appreciate the challenges of living without magic and ingenuity required to do so. However, before he could formulate a proper lecture, Molly spoke up with news that made him drop the carrot grater.

 

“Ginny received a letter today while the two of you were gone. Harry is coming by tomorrow.” 

 

“Really, dear...he wrote and said that he was coming tomorrow?” Arthur clapped his hands together. “That’s wonderful!” He kissed his wife again on her cheek.

 

Ron had put down the bread, and he regarded Molly with a thoughtful expression. “Mum?” 

 

“Yes, Ron?” Mrs. Weasley replied while she stirred the soup with the spatula.

 

“Did Harry say anything in the letter, you know, anything about us, or about what happened back at Hogwarts?” 

 

“No, he just said that he was sorry that he had been out of touch, and hoped that we would accept his apologies. Also, he wanted to let everyone know that he would be here at 3pm tomorrow.” She turned to look at her son who was smiling now, and appeared to have forgotten about the Cannons losing the Quidditch match. “Did you want to floo Hermione? I believe she said that they were staying in Edinburgh this summer.” 

 

“Yeah, I do!” Ron rose from the table and ran upstairs, leaving Molly and Arthur alone.

 

The sound of Ron’s bedroom door creaking open and slamming closed came from upstairs. The smile faded from Molly’s face as she looked down into the soup pot, staring at the bubbling bits of meat and vegetables as if they were the contents of a pensive.

 

“What is it?” Arthur asked, stroking Molly’s back and looking over her shoulder, watching the rhythmic motions of her hand and the spoon. “Won’t you be glad to have Harry home? Ron and Ginny will be chuffed to bits.”

 

Before Molly could answer, Ron raced down the stairs and into the kitchen sporting a dry and clean Chudley shirt, and threw the floo powder into the fireplace. 

 

“The Granger’s. Edinburgh, Scotland.” With a flash of green flame and a grin, Ron disappeared.

 

“Well?” Arthur prompted.

 

“It will be different!” Molly sighed, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.

 

Not knowing what to say, Arthur began gathering the cooking implements and placing them in the sink. The room seemed strangely quiet without the clanging of pans washing themselves, the swish of a magically animated broom, or the cries of children laughing or squabbling. Only the faint clink of Molly’s spoon and the barely audible rumble of the boiling soup broke the silence. The Burrow was different.

 

\---------------------------

 

Harry closed the book he had been reading, marking his place with a scrap of parchment. He turned the book in his hands and regarded the title, smiling to himself as he read it out aloud.

 

“Death Omens. What To Do When You Know The Worst Is Coming,” Harry spoke to the empty room. “Trelawney could learn a thing or two from this book.” 

 

Harry stretched and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands as the clock on the wall began to chime. The Black Family library was a miniature version of the library at Hogwarts. Since his return, he had started to come to this room every day to read. The books spanned a variety of topics. Harry knew that if Hermione found out that he had taken up this interest in reading, that she would be proud of him. Of course, if she knew that he was reading books about dark magic, she would surely lecture him about the dangers of practicing those types of spells. Harry was not yet ready to show Hermione his work, but since their near-deaths from the Fiendfyre Curse inside the Room of Requirement, he had been working on a way to subdue the curse from blazing out of control. His solution worked well, usually, and the few times it hadn’t, Harry had survived. Still, until he had achieved unquestionable success, he was sure that Hermione would lecture him until his ears bled, going on about the dangers of mucking about with things that he didn’t understand.

 

“Knowledge is power, as you would say Hermione,” Harry said as he replaced the book on the shelf and turned back to the desk. “Besides what you don’t know will not harm you.” He heard a knock at the door, and Kreacher peered around the slightly cracked entrance. 

 

“It’s almost time, Master Harry.” 

 

“Yes, thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said as he walked out of the library. “I should be back in a few hours. I imagine Mrs. Weasley will have a feast prepared, so don’t bother about cooking tonight.”

 

The house elf bowed as Harry fastened the cloak around his neck. Harry stepped outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the first time since he had arrived back from Hogwarts. The sunlight dazed the young wizard, but he turned and disapparated, only to find himself moments later standing in front of the gate to the Burrow.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬  
Harry heard a voice call his name as he tried to recover from the apparition. Before Harry could regain his equilibrium, he was being bear-hugged by a strong, red-headed young man. The force almost knocked Harry to the ground as he attempted to hug Ron back without falling.

 

“Ron, for goodness sake, you’re going to kill him!” Harry knew this voice. It was Hermione, and Harry looked over Ron’s shoulder to see her bushy, brown hair, which today looked very tame and docile. “Let him breathe, you big troll.” 

 

Ron let go of Harry. “Sorry, it’s just been so long since we’ve seen you, that I....bloody hell Harry, you’re as white as Sir Nicholas!” 

 

“Oh, yeah, haven’t been out too much,” Harry replied, looking up at Ron who seemed to have grown a couple of inches taller since he had last seen him. 

 

Harry walked over to Hermione for a brief hug and an exchange of muttered pleasantries. He wasn’t sure what he even said to Hermione because someone else had caught his attention.

 

“Ginny,” Harry said as he let go of Hermione and walked over to her. She was crying and smiling at the same time. When he reached her, she threw her arms around his waist and leaned against him so that he could feel her warm, wet tears on his neck and her silky scarlet hair against his cheek. He returned her embrace, noting how soft she felt and trying not to think of what it would be like to hold a body that was all angles and planes or to bury his face into fine, silver-blonde hair.

 

“It’s good to have you back, Harry,” Ginny whispered to him as they continued to hold one another. 

 

Harry nodded as they broke their hold and looked at one another. He started to reply, but was saved from having to respond when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came out of the house, both beaming.

 

“Mr. Weasley, good to see you again,” Harry said as he shook his hand. 

 

“Good to see you as well, Harry.”

 

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said as he walked over and hugged her. “I am sorry for not coming to the funeral. I hope that you will accept my apology, and my condolences.” 

 

“Of course dear, we accept your apology. We knew that you just needed a bit of time to yourself, that’s all,” Mrs. Weasley said as she led him into the house, followed by the others. 

 

Dinner that evening was just like old times. There were many stories to catch up on, especially from Ron, who talking about the joke shop and his trip to see the Chudley Cannons play. Harry had forgotten how filling it was to eat a large meal at the Weasley’s. By the time dessert had been placed on the table, Harry could not eat another bite. Mr. Weasley had been very keen on asking Harry more questions about Muggle items, while Ginny sat next to Harry holding his hand and looking at him. Ron and Hermione sat across from them at the table, holding hands as well.

 

“So, Harry,” Mr. Weasley spoke up, “Tell us, what have you been doing with yourself?”

 

Harry looked down at his plate and pushed a piece of treacle tart with a fork. He should have been prepared for this question, but he hadn’t taken the time to think it through, so of course the responses that sprang to mind were all grotesquely inappropriate. I’ve been staying up late reading about the dark arts to avoid my own dreams and depression. I’ve smashed perfectly good tableware in a fit of rage. I dream about joining forces with Voldemort and becoming a powerful Death Eater, and I find myself fantasizing about Draco Malfoy.

 

A firm and gentle squeeze of his left hand from Ginny brought Harry out of his own thoughts. “Well, I have been tending to things at Grimmauld Place; you know, doing a lot of reading and such.” Hermione beamed at the very mention of reading. “I’ve also been thinking about things.” Harry looked directly at Ginny, and she blushed as he looked at her. “Hermione, I want to thank you for the owl. I’ve decided to name him Ramses.” 

 

“You’re welcome Harry. I told Ron you would like him, after what happened to Hedwig.” She looked down for a moment at the deceased owl’s name, but then perked up again. “Harry, you should come and see Diagon Alley! It’s all rebuilt where the Death Eaters destroyed parts of it, and the shops are all open once again!” 

 

“Yeah, sure, I would like to try and do that sometime,” Harry agreed vaguely, not wanting to make a firm commitment. “Has anyone heard if Hogwarts will be open this year?” 

 

“No, Harry. We’ve not heard of any news from Hogwarts yet. I would suspect that they would try to reopen the school for the next term, but given what happened there, I am not sure they will. The school was heavily damaged,” Mr. Weasley said, as he stirred his tea around with his spoon. “However there is some good news though; Shacklebolt has been named the new Minister of Magic.” 

 

“That’s brilliant!” Harry said, trying to sound upbeat.

 

A silence fell around the table, and Harry began to feel a bit awkward as it loomed over them all. He sat there trying to remember the last time, or any time, that it had been quiet at the Weasley’s dinner table. Harry knew that times were changing, and people as well. 

 

Harry cleared his throat, which seemed to bring everyone out of their silent trances. “If you don’t mind, everyone, I would like to speak to Ginny privately.” Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, Ron had a tiny smirk on his face and nodded his head, while Hermione dabbed at her eyes with a serviette, trying to stifle a tear. 

 

Harry led Ginny away from the table and out into the garden. The smell of the early summertime flowers filled his senses and reminded him a bit of the smell that came from Professor Trelawney’s classroom. They walked in silence, but still holding hands. The garden extended down the side of the hill behind the home to where a large oak tree was located. They sat down in the evening sunset and gazed off into the orange streaks of color that filled the sky. 

 

“Ginny, I needed to talk to you about us,” Harry started as he turned his head to her. “I know that everything has been a bit chaotic lately, and I am sorry for not replying to your letters.” 

 

Harry felt Ginny reach for his face and lightly brush his cheek with the back of her hand. He closed his eyes as he felt her hand move to his forehead and to his scar. The sensation from the touch of her fingers upon his scar was almost overpowering to him. He reached up and slowly closed his hand upon hers then brought it down to rest upon the grass between them. Harry opened his eyes to see Ginny’s lips curving into a gentle smile.

 

“Ginny, I love you. I love all of you. But right now I still need a bit of time to get over what has happened, and to pick myself up and move forward.” 

 

Harry waited for her answer as she had stopped looking at him, and instead focused upon something out across the field. When she looked back at him, she had tears in her eyes. “I know, Harry, I know.” That was all that she could say before she fell against his shoulder and sobbed. Harry placed his hand upon her soft hair and stoked it and her back while she wept for them and their love. A few minutes later she broke their embrace and looked at Harry while trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

 

“Somehow, someway I knew, Harry. Something told me that things would not be the same as they were. I just had a feeling. You know as if something is a bit off, just a little.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them. When she spoke, the sadness had gone from her voice, replaced with cold disappointment. “Why didn’t you answer the letters that were sent to you?”

 

“Honestly, Ginny, I didn’t know what to say.” Harry placed his other hand on top of their combined hands, as Ginny placed her free hand on top of Harry’s. He spoke while looking at their joined hands. “So much has happened that I just did not know what to say to you, or how to say it.”

 

“You could have at least told us that you were alright!” Ginny said. Her hands clenched tightly, and Harry winced as her nails dug into his flesh. “We had no idea what was going on with you! We were all so worried about you, Harry. It’s difficult knowing someone you love will not speak to you and not even knowing why!” 

 

Harry looked away from their hands and focused on the fading sunset on the western horizon. The streaking rays filled the sky with crimson and pink colors now as Harry could hear Ginny crying yet again, but he still refused to look into her soft, brown eyes.

 

“How do you think I feel, Harry?” she sobbed. “Do you even care about me anymore? Damn it, Harry... James... Potter, look at me!” 

 

Harry felt Ginny’s hand grab his chin as his head was torqued so that he had to look at her. He felt his own anger ignite, heating his cheeks and smoldering until he was sure Ginny could see it in his eyes. All that Harry wanted to do right now was to leave and go back to Grimmauld Place. He struck her hand away with more force than he anticipated.

 

“What do you want, Ginny? What do you expect from me? An apology, because I’ve already given you that. A promise? A commitment? A damned bloody ring? Because that’s not going to happen, Ginny,” Harry shouted back at her. He knew that a row with Ginny was the last thing that he wanted, especially here and now, but she had pressed the wrong buttons within him, and now his anger was unleashed. 

 

“Ginny, you will never understand, but there are things in my head now that scare me. They are dark images and very dark thoughts that I have no control over,” Harry said as he squeezed her hands between his. 

 

“Harry, you’re hurting my ha-, Harry let go of me!” Ginny screamed as Harry had begun to force her fingers to squeeze together without mercy. Harry watched as Ginny recoiled, tucking her hands under her arms as if to protect them. “I’ve seen dark things, Harry. I’ve fought in battles. I’ve been possessed by Him. I’ve lost my brother, for Merlin’s sake. What makes you think I would never understand?” Ginny demanded, “What makes you so bloody arrogant that--"

 

Harry placed his hand in front of her to cut her off. “What I mean is this.” Harry could feel his anger slowly declining and his confidence in his answer growing. “Right now, I have been through what no other wizard or witch could ever imagine having to go through. I don’t know what I want, or who I- who I am anymore, really.” He saw the softness slightly return to Ginny’s eyes as she inched closer again to him. “I have already placed you in danger once by letting Voldemort get close to you, and now I fear that I could make that mistake once again.”

 

Harry saw Ginny’s face turn blood-red as the Weasley temper flared in her. “It’s him! This is still all about him? Still? How can it be unfair to me Harry, when HE is dead?” 

 

Harry looked away from Ginny again, not wanting to answer her questions. Moments later Harry’s view of the sun was blocked by Ginny standing in front of him, her hands on her hips. 

 

“Or tell me Harry, is it something more? Is there something else that you are not telling me, and you are using him as your excuse for everything?” 

 

Her eyes locked with his in a cool, steady gaze so intense that he could not look away. “I know he's dead, Ginny, but no matter what anyone says, there is still a piece of Voldemort that lives within me. That’s something that I will never be able to rid myself of. There is no spell or potion that can ever take that away from me.” 

 

He continued to look into Ginny’s eyes as she would not move from in front of him. She could not possibly know what he was thinking; the idea that she could somehow look inside him and see the source of his conflict was ludicrous, of course. Surely, there was no way that she could see his true thoughts that revolved around a certain blonde Slytherin, and not her. Still Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she nodded, as if having confirmed something for herself. 

 

“You’re lying,” Ginny spat.

 

“Fine!” Harry stood up and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from hers. “You’re right!” He barked a short, manic laugh. “It’s isn’t just because of Voldemort. Do you want to know what it is? It’s someone else. There, I said it. You want to know who it is that I can’t get out of my brain? Do you want to know who it is I think about every time I remember kissing you? It is--"

 

Suddenly, there was a crack in the air and Harry felt himself reeling. The side of his face seared with pain as Harry felt the hot lashes from where Ginny’s fingers had struck him. Feeling dazed, he dropped to his knees and fumbled for his glasses, which she had knocked off his face. When he found his glasses and put them back on, Ginny came clearly into focus. 

 

“It doesn’t matter who the hell it is. You’re ...different. You are not the Harry Potter that I once loved,” she coldly whispered. 

 

Harry watched as she turned and walked back toward the Burrow as the wind fanned her red hair. “Yeah,” he agreed while getting to his feet and feeling a touch of blood at the corner of his mouth. “Everything is different.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

A soft pop echoed the arrival of Harry back home to Grimmauld Place. He had a full stomach and was weary from the emotions of the day. He had known that this day would be a difficult one, and indeed it lived up to every expectation. He walked slowly up the stairs toward his bedroom thinking about how nice it would be to just fall into his bed and go to sleep. It was strange, Harry thought, that Kreacher did not say anything to him upon his arrival. However it was late, and Harry assumed that the house elf was already fast asleep in his own bed. 

 

He opened the door to his bedroom and threw the traveling cloak onto the floor. He opened the window to let in some nighttime air, along with the sounds of suburban London that he had become so familiar with. Harry lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, letting the events of the day race through his mind. There was a whoosh of air above him.

 

“Ramses, I will feed you in the morning.” Harry mumbled while still lying on the bed with his eyes closed. “Just get in your cage and call it a night, alright?” 

 

A loud, piercing screech vibrated Harry’s eardrums, and he quickly opened his eyes. He knew that was not Ramses. Perched on top of Ramses’ cage was a beautiful, white eagle. The magnificent bird looked at Harry, and swooped down onto the bed. There tied to the eagle’s leg, Harry saw, was an envelope. 

 

“Where did you come from? You are absolutely beautiful!” Harry said, as he lightly stroked the feathers. The eagle angled its head and made a chattering sound, as if trying to speak to Harry. He untied the note from the bird’s leg. The eagle flew to the edge of the windowsill and landed there, watching Harry with its dark, penetrating eyes. 

 

Harry looked puzzled for a moment at the white bird and then surveyed the writing on the envelope. There in very neat, green writing was his name:

 

H. Potter

 

Harry had seen this kind of handwriting before, and knew exactly now, who the eagle belonged to. It belonged to a Slytherin named Draco Malfoy.


	8. Knowing Thy Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was most interesting to write. So I hope that everyone enjoys it.

Chapter 8: Knowing Thy Enemy

 

As Harry held the envelope, his hand trembled with fear and excitement, causing the green lettering to blur. He dropped the envelope onto his bed and bent over to peer at the handwriting again, sure that upon closer inspection it would turn out to be Hermione’s neat, feminine script, Ron’s ungainly scratching, or the distinctive scrawl of Ginny. By now, Ginny had undoubtedly spoken to her mother or someone there at the Burrow about the fight that they had had. However, to receive a letter from Draco Malfoy was absolutely unthinkable; Harry couldn’t think of a single human being who hated him more than Draco did. Still, each time his eyes swept over the envelope, they found Draco’s unmistakable letters printed in Slytherin green. 

 

“Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin,” Harry said, looking at the letters of his name on the outside of the envelope. Harry knew that usually with a Slytherin, one could expect the unexpected. He had learned that lesson from Snape’s memories. 

 

“Trust,” Harry said, as he painfully remembered the images and feelings from Snape’s memories. He vividly saw his mother befriending and trusting Severus when no one else would. He witnessed the hand of Draco Malfoy extended toward him in friendship and in trust. He remembered lying on the ground hearing the voice of Narcissa Malfoy and feeling the silver-blonde strands of hair shield his face from the others as their trust was formed with the exchange of words and her hand upon his heart. 

 

Harry got up to look out his window, possibly expecting to see a handful of Death Eaters waiting under the lamppost across the street all with their wands aimed at his window. When he looked out across the street, the only things he saw were the usual lamppost that stood beside the bench and the wastebasket that had trash and old, discarded newspapers in it. There was nothing out of the ordinary about this scenery before him. If any revenge-obsessed dark wizards were skulking around the place, they were cleverly hidden.

 

He focused his attention back to the letter in his hand and looked at it once again. There was no doubt that this was Draco’s handwriting. He knew it very well from the countless notes that Draco had passed to Harry in their Potions classroom taunting him about the upcoming Quidditch matches, accusing him of various forms of sexual depravity, and profaning his friends and family members. 

 

"Only one way to find out what is inside here," Harry said to himself. 

 

Surely it won't be more of Draco's childish bullying; it wouldn't be worth sending a beautiful, white eagle to call me a Muggle-loving mudblood, Harry thought as he turned the letter over and over in his hands. 

 

The eagle made a soft clicking sound with his beak as if nudging Harry to open the letter. "Either it is some cursed letter, which Draco has set up to finally kill me, or else…"

 

Harry could not will himself to think of the “or else”. There was no way that Draco Malfoy, son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater, could actually be trying to turn over a new leaf. That was just simply impossible. Dumbledore would roll over in his grave, if that were actually the reason for the letter.

 

“Dumbledore,” Harry said to the letter. “If Dumbledore could trust in Malfoy not to kill him that night, then I can trust him now.” Harry traced the letters of his name with his fingertips, knowing that Draco wrote his name, and hoping that this letter could be the start of what his dreams and desires showed him every night. 

 

With these last words echoing through his mind, Harry opened the envelope and took out a neatly folded piece of parchment. His eyes began to read the letter quickly, and then more slowly, to take in each word that had been written. It clearly had been written by Draco; there was no doubt about that. The words carried his usual pompous attitude, yet Harry could not help but see that there was an uncharacteristic maturity to them. It was surreal. Old alliances die hard, but here, here in this letter was what Harry hoped was perhaps the potential for a new alliance. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, still unable to believe what he was reading. 

 

Potter,

 

I know this letter will be difficult for you to understand. So before I go any further, do not try to rack your brains. You will only give yourself a headache. However, if you think it is difficult believing what you are reading, then try being here writing this to you. 

 

I know that we cannot undo the past, and also that old rivalries will never go away. I speak of Gryffindor and Slytherin, and also of our own personal rivalry at Hogwarts. Honestly, it’s not what I wanted, Potter. I was forced to torment you at school, and instructed to try to make your life a living hell. I was coerced into become a Death Eater, and I was forced to do the Dark Lord's work. It was either become one, or along with my family be killed. You, of all people, are the first person outside of my family to know that, Potter. I hope that by taking you into my confidence I may gain a measure of your trust. For your own sake, I need you to believe me.

 

Since we returned home, my parents have argued a lot, and I think they have even come close to hexing one another. Father has said that he would not harm Mother, but I know that is a lie. I hate them both for coming to school that night and frantically looking for me. You do not understand how embarrassing it was to sit in the Great Hall, with Mother and Father beside me, and not be able to look at anyone, especially another Slytherin, in the face. 

What I am trying to say is “thank you”. You saved my life that night. I knew that I was going to die in the Room of Requirement when Crabbe unleashed the Fiendfyre. That prat was going to kill us all by trying a spell that he wasn't clever enough to use. Then you saved me, and for that, Potter, I owe you.

 

In order to repay my debt, I tell you this: be on the lookout for my father. I think he is planning something now that the Dark Lord is gone and the Death Eaters are in retreat at the moment from the Aurors. Warn your friends as well. I have instructed Orion to remain there and await any letter that you may want to write. 

 

~Draco Malfoy~

 

 

Six long years of being enemies, and now everything seemed to be spiraling into a new direction. Harry lay back on his bed and let the letter rest on his chest. He ran a finger lightly over the parchment, imagining Draco's long, slim fingers curled around the quill as it laid the ink that Harry now caressed. That letter had to have been extremely difficult to write, and Harry found himself moved by Draco's courage; he had risked crossing his father in order to give Harry a warning. Perhaps Dumbledore had seen something in Draco that Harry could not, something that was only now coming to light. Reading the letter again, he wished that Draco had devoted fewer words to his own misery and more to explaining exactly how Harry and his friends might be in danger.

 

"Be on the lookout for your father doing what?" Harry muttered. "What, Draco, what is it that he is planning?" Harry asked, wishing he could question Draco in person. He looked over the words again, hoping to find some hidden clue, but none revealed itself.

 

Perhaps the entire letter was nothing more than an idle threat, an attempt to leave Harry cowering in fear of Lucius's dark, mysterious plans. If that was the case, Draco had failed miserably. Harry already lived in a constant state of wariness; he had already known that Voldemort's followers could be plotting revenge.

 

"No," Harry mumbled as he read through the letter yet again. The confessions it contained were so uncomfortably personal that, if not for the neatness of the penmanship, Harry would suspect that Draco had been given a drop of Veritaserum before writing it. “You’re not trying to trick me, Draco. You were never able to master the Slytherin virtue of subtlety.”

 

The letter had changed nothing with regard to Harry's fears, although it had given him an unsettlingly intimate glimpse into the neurotic, petulant mind of Draco Malfoy. It had also stirred memories from Harry's past. He remembered the night that Malfoy spoke of in his letter; he remembered the events that happened inside the Room of Requirement all too well. There was the feeling of excitement and electricity that flowed through Harry’s body as he felt Draco’s hands wrapped tightly around his waist. He could feel Draco's heartbeat pounding as the Slytherin's head was pressed against Harry's neck and back. He could even remember the smell of Draco, how intoxicating his smell was even with the smoke and flames all around them. 

 

Though very grateful for the letter, Harry had fantasized that Draco's sense of obligation would manifest itself in a more personal way. He imagined Draco's eyes brimming with tears of gratitude, his hands taking Harry by the shoulders and pulling him close enough to whisper in his ear.

 

What can I do to thank you, Harry? How can I show you my gratitude? Draco's imagined voice asked.

 

Harry had many answers to those questions, and they flickered through his brain in a barrage of images involving bare skin and blonde hair. 

 

You can have me here, there, anywhere. The voice of Draco continued as the images played out in Harry's mind. With all of these memories and thoughts flowing through him, the movement in Harry's boxers became very rhythmic and steady. 

 

“Draco.” Harry said, as he rubbed himself. “My Draco.” 

 

Harry smiled as he lay upon his pillows. In his mind he and Draco were doing such lustful things to one another and it all seemed possible, even natural. However, Harry knew he had to be careful. For now, his fantasies must remain locked in his own brain. He would have to be subtle with his answers and shrewd with his plans.

 

Harry knew that his hopes all rested on the chance that Draco would one day reciprocate his desires. He knew it was an unlikely scenario, but he must also know the truth. First, Harry knew he had to correct a mistake that he made seven years ago that involved a certain handshake. From there, he could begin a friendship and he could begin to observe Draco, seeking any sign that the Slytherin might feel the same needs as Harry himself. Once he was sure of that, if he ever was sure, he could tell Draco how he felt and what he wanted from him. However, despite the sincerity of Draco’s letter, he knew that the most likely scenario would involve Draco turning his wand on Harry. Besides, even if Draco did fancy Harry, Lucius and Narcissa would kill or curse the both of them if they ever found out. Draco had risked his family’s displeasure in order to give Harry a warning; would he risk it again so that they could be together? It was a risk that Harry was willing to take.

 

War does change people. Can that change be for the better? 

 

Harry imagined revealing everything to Draco only to have his confession cut short by Draco’s mouth covering his, and his hands exploring every inch of Harry’s body as their tongues danced together. Draco’s hands sliding along Harry’s abdomen and slowly inching their way down until finally feeling--

 

The cry of an eagle interrupted Harry's reverie, and he sat up to see the white bird, Orion, still perched on the windowsill. The scrutiny of the bird's black eyes destroyed Harry's mood; even closing his eyes could not bring the pleasant fantasies back.

 

"Thanks a lot, you bloody bird, for ruining the moment," Harry said bitterly as he crossed the room to sit down at his desk. "Fly out and find a mouse or something to eat, will you." Orion flitted to the top of Ramses's cage, while looking down and chirping at Harry. "Fine then, you can stay there while I figure out what to say, but this may take a while," Harry spoke as the white eagle settled itself comfortably onto the cage.

 

Harry picked up his quill. “Draco Malfoy,” Harry whispered. Even his name was sexy, distractingly so. "What shall I say to you?" He tapped the quill against his cheek, imagining the light touch of fingertips and the sweet aroma of blonde hair. Harry scanned Draco's letter again, searching for inspiration. "You never made my life a living hell, Draco. Voldemort did that. You just made things more interesting and very exciting. You gave me something to think about besides Ron and Hermione. I can’t remember how many times I laid in bed holding my pillow and wishing it were you.”

 

Orion keened again and tilted his head, looking from Harry's face to the blank parchment and back as if inviting Harry to write.

 

"Don't rush me on this, Orion," Harry said as he began to scribble several words on the parchment only to ball it up in his hand, and toss it onto the floor. He reached into the drawer of his desk and drew out a fresh sheet. 

 

Harry looked at the empty white parchment as it mocked him with its limitless potential. Inscribed with the right message, the paper could bring Draco closer to him, while the same parchment could destroy their fledgling alliance forever, if he wrote the wrong words. The quill slightly trembled in his fingers. His mind raced, and after what felt like an eternity, Harry began to write.


	9. Warm Hopes, Cold Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere "thank you" to all of the people that have read this story thus far and continue to follow my story.  
> So sit back, enjoy reading the chapter and don't forget to leave a comment.

Chapter 9: Warm Hopes, Cold Reality

 

The green flames signaled the arrival of the visitor into the small house. The large, muscular man stepped out of the flames, lightly brushing the soot and ash from his maroon traveling cloak. Phillipe watched from a dark corner of the room.

 

“Still enjoy trying to make a surprise entrance, do you?” Phillipe called.

 

The large man studied the room to see where the voice had come from. Phillipe stepped out from the shadows with his wand aimed directly at the man who had just stepped out of the fireplace. With his left hand, he lit a candle that had been placed on a table between two chairs.

 

“I suppose I don’t have to ask how good your senses are,” the visitor said, as he eyed the wand that was pointing at him. “How long have you been waiting?” 

 

“Long enough.”

 

“I apologize for the delay, but so many things to attend to, and my time is very short right now.” The muscular man flicked away the last bit of soot from his cloak and favored Phillipe with the strained smile of a harried beaurocrat.

 

Phillipe lowered his wand and offered the man in the maroon cloak a seat in the small room. The visitor removed his cloak and draped it across the back of the chair. They stared at each other across the table, neither man choosing to begin the conversation. The small room seemed to crackle with tension. Finally, the visitor cleared his throat as Phillipe looked at him without a blink of his eyes.

 

Phillipe's guest straightened in his chair and screwed his face into a scowl, clearly trying to look intimidating. “It appears, Phillipe, that there is a small problem with the way that you conducted your last assignment.” 

 

“A small problem,” Phillipe repeated with no emotion to his words. He wondered how much a ‘small problem’ would cost him out of this payment.

 

“Yes, I thought we had agreed that you would only capture or kill Death Eaters, not Muggles.”

 

“The Muggle witnessed too much and had to be, well, let’s just say, taken care of.” 

 

“No. You became complacent in your work, and very sloppy!” The man wagged a finger and glared like an old school master. “You are supposed to be a professional!”

 

“Calm yourself, before I show you professionalism, old friend.” Phillipe made a show of patting his wand, although he had no intention of drawing it. His relationship with this man was far too profitable to end now. After a pause long enough to allow the threat to sink in, he continued in a reasonable tone. “The Muggle was an unfortunate incident, but the job was completed. Now there is one less Death Eater that you and your people have to deal with.” 

 

When the large man spoke, his tone was bitter. “Yes, but it was not in the manner that we had discussed. We wanted to question him, not to have you rip his throat out!” He pounded a fist on the table hard enough for Phillipe to feel the vibrations through the floor. “However, as you said, it is one less Death Eater that I have to deal with.” He reached into the right-side pocket of his robe and pulled out a small brown pouch. He tossed it to Phillipe, who snatched it out of the air. “For services not completely rendered, I have withheld half of your usual payment.” 

 

Phillipe glared across the table. He did not draw his wand, but the atmosphere in the room became icy and cold, almost as if a Dementor were there. It was an effect he had worked hard to master, one that rarely failed to intimidate an adversary.

 

“If you were any other man, I would kill you where you sit!” Phillipe growled.

 

The guest glared back, refusing to avert his eyes from Phillipe's. “If that is a threat, old friend, then you will find yourself out of work and back in that hole that you call home, forever imprisoned.” He did not raise his voice, but Phillipe knew that he had better not test this man’s limits.

 

Both men continued to stare at one another, neither giving ground for a few tense seconds. Finally deciding that a confrontation would not gain him any advantage, Phillipe relaxed in his chair and rested his hands across his chest while his brain worked on how to keep the advantage over the man sitting across from him. An evil grin spread across Phillipe’s face as he decided to test the knowledge of his guest.

 

“Tell me, why would a Death Eater be taking polyjuice potion and go to the trouble of impersonating a muggle in a squat little village like that even if he is in hiding?” Phillipe asked.

 

His guest shrugged and flashed a white-toothed grin. “Why would he not? What better way to avoid Azkaban than to disappear into another world, yes? I wonder, Phillipe, do you wish you had thought of doing that?”

 

Phillipe made a noise that was neither agreement nor disagreement. The fingers of his left hand traced the tattoo on his right wrist. He had, in fact, thought of doing exactly as Milo had, but such a tactic was useless against members of his own brotherhood. One member of the trust could find another, even if that person were to hide behind a false face. Milo should have known that, but clearly the man with the maroon cloak did not. Phillipe grinned. He enjoyed having the upper hand. “You can bet all of your gold that the muggle is dead. Poor bugger never stood a chance against someone like Milo.”

 

The large, muscular man opened his mouth, closed it, and then shook his head, frowning at Phillipe. “Unfortunately, I also place his chances of being alive at zero, Phillipe. Death Eaters are not exactly renowned for their generosity." 

 

Phillipe nodded and smiled as if accepting a compliment. “Quite right!   
What of the Potter boy? Is it true what I hear-- that he vanquished Voldemort?” 

 

The guest cringed ever so slightly at the name, but quickly recovered his aplomb. “Yes, it is true. The boy was the one who defeated him.”

 

“Most interesting,” said Phillipe. “It’s quite amazing that the single most powerful wizard could be brought down by his own mistakes and ignorance.” 

 

“Yes, but now we face a new series of challenges. In his defeat, we have tried to eliminate any resistance from his followers. We still have some people, and even some families that are sympathetic toward the Dark Lord's cause.” The large man reached into his pocket again and brought out a rolled up piece of parchment. He handed it across to his host. “This will inform you about your next assignment.”

 

Phillipe glanced at the names that were written on the parchment and shook his head in disbelief. “You do realize that some of these names on here are Ministry associates who helped to fight against Voldemort?” Phillipe said, as he looked up at the man across from him.

 

“Sadly, yes. However, we have good confirmation that these people are still sympathetic to his cause, and they must be eliminated for the greater good. The world is changing now. The right hand must learn to deal with the left, if we are to move forward. They must depend upon one another in order to survive.”

 

The large man got up from his chair and began to fasten the maroon cloak around his neck. “Payment as usual, upon completion of your assignment,” he said as he finished clasping the cloak. Phillipe got to his feet with the list still clutched in his hand. “This time, Phillipe, I want no mistakes. Some of these names are very important figures in the wizarding world. You are to eliminate the certain ones, and the others you are to serve warning. There will be no unauthorized killings; not on my watch! I have a responsibility to those souls that I am sworn to protect.”

 

“If those people want their souls to be spared then they had better make a deal with a priest. Murder is a cold-blooded business.”

 

“Final notice, Phillipe. If you disobey again, I will put you out of your misery myself!”

 

The green flames erupted in the fireplace as the large man stepped into them and disappeared.

 

“As you wish, Minister,” Phillipe said, as he read the names on the list one last time before burning the parchment to ashes. 

 

_________________________________________

 

I want you to stay there until he gives you his reply. You do not leave his room no matter what he says, or what he does. 

 

Two golden orbs gazed down from the top of the cage at a pile of crumpled parchment that littered the floor beneath the chair and desk. The words from Draco Malfoy echoed in the eagle’s brain as another wad of parchment was thrown to the floor. The sun had set and risen since Orion had arrived in this dim, confining room, and though Harry had brought him food, his talons twitched with the need to tear into something small and warm. Orion clicked his beak in frustration and chirped at Harry, as he longed to soar into the sky once again. 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

“Look, I’ve told you, don’t rush me on this! I’ve never been good at this type of thing-- not with Cho, or with Ginny, and certainly not with Draco. It’s like the more it matters, the harder it is to find what it is I want to say,” Harry said as he looked up at Orion. “It will get done as soon as I can finish this last bit.” The white eagle tilted its head and gazed down with an intense stare that reminded Harry of how Draco looked when he was angry.

 

Harry quickly looked away from Orion and focused on the words that had yet to be written upon the parchment. He started to write as the words became clearer in his mind and began to pour more rapidly from the tip of his quill. His writing became swifter and flowed as he neared the end of his thoughts. 

 

“Almost there. Come on Potter,” Harry mumbled as he stopped lightly tapping the top of his quill against his chin. He placed the quill on the parchment again as the final words begin to flow from his brain down to his hand. 

 

Suddenly a screeching noise distracted Harry as he turned to see Ramses fly in through the open window and attempt to land upon his cage. The owl surprised Orion, who had claimed the cage as his while he waited for Harry’s reply. Several ear-piercing screeches followed as both birds fought over the right to sit atop the cage. Numerous brown and white feathers floated down to the floor as Ramses sought shelter in the opposite corner of the room. A victorious Orion clenched his feet on the bars of the cage and used his sharp beak to preen his ruffled feathers into place. 

 

Harry looked back to the parchment only to find that the chaos had caused him to dribble ink across the page that he had almost completed. He screamed a plethora of expletives at both birds, snapped his quill in half, and threw it onto the floor. With his anger boiling inside of him, Harry realized that it was useless to try to write to Draco now. Angrily, he threw back the chair and stormed out of the room. He slammed the door in his wake, thus causing the picture of him, Ron, and Hermione to fall from the wall, shattering the glass in the picture frame.

 

Both birds shrieked at one another from across the room while Harry ended his tantrum by throwing himself onto the old bed in Sirius’ bedroom. Harry blinked at the ceiling trying to let the frustration flow from his mind. He had been so close to finishing his reply to Draco, and now he groaned at the thought of having to write his letter once again. He rolled onto his side and stared at the faded green and silver wallpaper that lined the bedroom walls. The longer he stared at those two colors, the more he began to see the beauty in them. Finally, frustration gave way to exhaustion, and thoughts faded into dreams.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

“Master, Master! Master Harry must wake up quickly!”

 

Harry mumbled at the sound of his name and rolled over onto his side. 

 

“Master must wake up now if he wishes to save his owl!” 

 

“What?” Harry opened his eyes but his mind was still foggy with sleep. “What did you say, Kreacher?”

 

“Master musn’t be angry with Kreacher, but Kreacher was only tending to things as Master Harry had ordered. Kreacher was only feeding Master Harry’s owl.” The house elf stepped back further away as Harry tossed his legs over the side of the bed and tried to clear the last depths of sleep from his brain. 

 

“My owl? What’s wrong with Hedwig?” Harry asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. 

 

“Kreacher did not know that Master Harry had gotten a new eagle. Kreacher was feeding the owl when Master’s new bird attacked the food and Master’s owl,” Kreacher said as he eased his way back away from Harry’s reach. “Kreacher knew that he must come and awaken Master Harry immediately.”

 

Harry rushed by Kreacher as the house elf said these final words, and sprinted down the long corridor to the bedroom. He wrenched open the door to find Orion perched on top of the cage with a dead, fat rat clutched in his talons. Quickly, Harry scanned the room for Ramses and found the shuddering owl wedged in the tiny space between the corner of the room and Harry’s wardrobe closet. 

 

“Ramses,” Harry called to the owl as he held up his arm. The owl feebly hooted and lightly fluttered to Harry’s arm. A thorough scan of the owl by Harry found no major injuries, but only a few minor cuts on the owl. “You’ll survive!” Harry said as he carried the owl over to the open window. “Go on, now. Go and get something to eat. I have a lot to do today, and I can’t have any interruptions.” Ramses hooted gleefully at Harry and took flight out the open window. 

 

“And as for you...” Harry scolded as he looked up at Orion, who had a chunk of the dead rat’s body in his beak. “The same goes for you-- no bloody interruptions, unless you want to stay here.” The eagle continued to eat his breakfast, but glared back at Harry. 

 

Harry shook his head as picked up the crumpled pieces of parchment and placed the chair back at his desk. “Bloody bird, almost has Draco’s stare in him.” Orion tilted his head to the side and trilled at Harry as if acknowledging the comment.

 

Hours later, a small knock came from the door as Kreacher’s long nose and head appeared around the edge of it. “Kreacher has made Master Harry his cup of tea as Master requires.” 

 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry replied without looking at the house elf. “Bring it in and place it on the table.” 

 

“Master also has a letter,” Kreacher said as he placed the tea on the table behind Harry. “Does Master want to open his letter now?”

 

“Go ahead and open it, Kreacher. I will read it once I am finished with this. Just set it on the desk there,” Harry said as he waved his hand nonchalantly to Kreacher.

 

“Yes, whatever Master says,” Kreacher replied with a sly smirk upon his face. With a clawed finger, he slit the envelope and set the letter on the desk.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the letter begin to move of its own volition, contorting itself until it took on the shape of an angry mouth. He saw the maroon color of the envelope and knew instantly what was about to happen. Quickly, but with care he pushed his quill and parchment away and reached for his wand.

 

HARRY...JAMES...POTTER!

 

Harry flinched at the usage of his full name and at the shrill, familiar sound of the voice. 

 

HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING LIKE THAT TO GINNY?

 

Harry covered his ears as the Howler continued to yell.

 

HOW COULD YOU DO SUCH A THING LIKE THAT TO US? WHAT IN MERLIN’S NAME ARE YOU THINKING?

 

Harry glared at the howler, his teeth clenched tightly as Hermione’s voice boomed throughout the room. “Shut it, Hermione, shut up!” he growled.

…I THOUGHT RON WAS BAD ABOUT BEING BRAINLESS AT TIMES, BUT YOU-- I AM ABSOLUTELY SPEECHLESS!

 

“You didn’t get slapped in the face!” Harry yelled at the Howler, drowning out the sound of Hermione’s voice with his own. “I did, and you accuse me of being brainless?”

 

… AND WHO IS THIS OTHER PERSON THAT YOU THINK YOU HAVE FEELINGS FOR? I DEMAND TO KNOW, HARRY!

 

Harry stood up now with his wand pointing directly at the Howler as Hermione’s voice continued.

 

AFTER EVERYTHING THAT WE HAVE GIVEN AND DONE FOR YOU, HOW COULD YOU BETRAY---

 

“Incindeo!” The howler exploded into flames from the spell. “Damn it Hermione, I am sick and tired of you treating me as if you are my mother!” Harry stomped on the ashes of the charred howler, emphasizing every word with a vicious smash. “Stop. Trying. To. Control. My. Life!”

 

A small sound caught Harry’s attention, and he turned around to see that Kreacher had not left the room and had witnessed the entire tantrum. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a howler, Kreacher?” Harry asked as he flung himself back into the chair at his desk. “You know I didn’t want to be disturbed!” 

 

The house elf stared back at Harry. “Master did not ask Kreacher what the letter was. If Master wants to know, then Master should ask.”

 

Harry felt like kicking the house elf directly in his long, hooked nose. “Get out!” Harry screamed as he viciously pointed at the door. “Get the bloody hell out of my room and don’t bother me anymore today!”

 

Kreacher slyly grinned and bowed to Harry. “As Master wishes.” Harry slammed the door in Kreacher’s face hoping that he would knock the old house elf off the landing.

 

Harry forcefully sat back down in his chair and placed his hands over his face. “Oh, what else can go wrong today?” Harry groaned with frustration as Orion observed from his perch on top of the cage. The eagle glided down to the desk and chirped at Harry. Slowly, Harry lowered his hands away from his face and looked into the precious glow of the eagle’s eyes. A small smile began to spread across Harry’s face as he reached out and slowly stroked Orion’s majestic feathers. “You’re right. I could never stay angry with you. You are too beautiful, Orion. Draco must be lucky to have such a gorgeous bird like you as a pet.” Harry looked down at the parchment. “I am finished with this. Let’s get you back on your way home.” 

 

He rolled the parchment and looked for a piece of string to tie it to Orion’s leg. Harry looked through the drawers of the desk but could not find anything. “Hang on,” he muttered to Orion, hoping the bird would have the patience to wait just a moment more. He dashed out of the bedroom and into the bedroom down the hallway. Harry rummaged through the desk until he finally found a piece of twine. 

 

“Here it is, Orion,” Harry said as he gently tied the twine around the parchment and the eagle’s leg. For a fleeting moment, Harry looked at the colors of the twine before Orion flew into the sky. “Silver and green,” Harry whispered to himself as he stood there and watched the eagle fly out of sight.

 

Harry looked down as his foot brushed against a picture frame lying face down on the floor. Carefully, he reached down and turned the picture frame over, spilling the shards of glass. There, within the picture, smiling and waving back at Harry, were a younger Harry, Hermione, and Ron as they stood in front of the grand fountains and lion statues of Trafalgar Square. Harry looked at the picture for a few seconds more as he remembered this exact moment in their past. He made his way over to the desk, dropping the picture into the waste bin, and walked out of the room and away from his friends.


	10. A Painful Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 10. I do hope that everyone so far has enjoyed the story. This chapter was one of those chapters that took a while, but the final product is very good. To all of the readers, please do feel free to leave a comment.

Chapter 10: A Painful Lesson

 

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, Draco glanced out the window as he paced back and forth in his bedroom, hoping to see Orion’s gleaming white feathers. A tiny nagging voice in his head was suggesting that he find something else to keep him occupied, but that voice was far weaker than the impulse which kept jerking his eyes toward the window. He was beginning to doubt that his letter would be answered because it was just like Potter to be petty and childish, abusing his position of power by making Draco endlessly wait. 

 

Malfoy Manor had always been a lonely place, and Draco had long ago learned to take solace in the sound of his own voice. He spoke out loud now, needing to break the silence. “What other reason could it be? It’s not like Potter has a bloody social life,” Draco mumbled to himself as he continued pacing and looking out the window. “Even someone as dim as Potter wouldn’t take two whole days to write a simple reply, if he even plans on writing one.” 

 

Draco knew that old wounds would never heal, and that there had already been too much damage done between him and Potter. He stopped pacing across the room and stood in front of the window looking out toward the horizon. "Well, at least if he doesn’t respond I won't have to suffer though trying to befriend Potter just because Father wants me to. I can still say I tried.

 

Yet the twisted visions in his head had gotten worse from the moment he sent the letter. Draco looked over his shoulder and scanned the room as if expecting to see Lucius standing in the doorway hearing everything that he had spoken aloud. "How can Father expect me to look Potter in the eye and have a normal conversation with him, to ‘get to know him’?" Draco scoffed and imitated Lucius as he repeated his father's words and swagger. "The bloody idiot. I hate him!"

 

"Father doesn't understand how difficult it is trying to say things to someone like Potter. What the bloody hell am I supposed to tell him, the truth?" Draco asked out loud as if expecting the room to answer him.  
"What am I supposed to do, go to Potter and ask him if he fancies a cup of tea when what’s really in my head is an uncontrollable urge to grab him by his hair and force him to his knees?"

 

Draco blinked his eyes and shook his head trying to erase that particular thought from his mind. "If Potter doesn't want anything to do with me, then…then…then it is a bloody relief to me!" Draco knew that if Harry did not want to reply to him that he should be happy about it, but he wasn't, which made him even angrier.

 

“Bloody Saint Potter!” Draco growled as he felt his pale face heating with anger. He wanted to get on his broomstick, fly to Grimmauld Place, and ask that high-handed Gryffindor why he thought he was too good to write a reply. 

 

That thought triggered a monstrous fantasy, one that wouldn't stop until it had played through, even though the pure vileness of it made Draco's stomach squirm and constrict as if trying to invert itself. 

 

Draco could picture Potter saying something stupid, like, "I--'m sorry. I couldn't think of what to say to you. You're a Malfoy and a Slytherin and I'm only a half-blood Gryffindor…."

 

"Is that a fact, Potter? Well it is still no excuse!" The fantasy Draco would say, causing Potter to cringe and push those barmy glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

 

"I told you, Draco, I'm sorry. How can I make it up to you?" Potter would ask, causing Draco to raise an eyebrow before taking Potter's shoulders and spinning him around so that he faced away from Draco.

 

Draco would run his hands through Potter's hair while he bit at Potter's neck. Then his hands would claw their way down Potter's back, pinching that soft, scrawny arse. Next, he would lift the robes while yanking down Potter's pants and boxers. He would shove Potter down to the floor and follow immediately as he forced himself closer. One hand would reach around Potter's face to muffle the inevitable sounds of protest, and the other would slide below Potter's abdomen feeling the bristle of hair and finding…

 

"No!" He screamed. Draco panted heavily as his mind continued to torment him with that sickening scene--he and Potter wrapped around one another, like two snakes mating. He refused to give in to the fantasy, to let himself enjoy it. His hands had started to drift downward of their own violation, and now he raised them both to his head and squeezed his temples, then tugged at his hair. 

 

Why couldn't things be simple? Why couldn't he want to hex Potter or kick him in the face? He tried remembering the emotions as he kicked Potter on the Hogwarts Express, breaking the Gryffindor’s nose. The memory did not bring any of the sick satisfaction that his true fantasies gave him. In fact, if someone else kicked or cursed Potter now, that would make him angry. 

 

Draco knew that he would go crazy if he kept pacing and talking to himself, so he left the room and proceeded down the stairs, planning to go out onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Far out of view and away from his parents, he could shout, kick things, and perhaps even cry in a secluded area. He hurried down the steps, skipping every other one until he came to the floor of the large living room. In his haste to get outside, Draco did not bother to look into his father’s study as he passed by the open doorway.

 

“Draco!”

 

Draco stopped in mid-step as he heard his father’s voice. 

 

“Draco!” This time the voice was more urgent, and Draco knew that he could not avoid this conversation. “Come here, Draco, now.”

 

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, turned and began to walk back to the doorway of Lucius’s study. Slowly, he slunk to the doorway, expecting to see Lucius sitting behind the desk, but instead his father was standing directly in the entrance. 

 

“Where do you think you are going, Draco?” Lucius asked.

 

“Out,” Draco replied.

 

“Oh no, you are not. You are going to report on your progress regarding the task that I gave you,” Lucius said as he extended his arm and pointed at the chair that sat in front of the desk. 

 

Draco did not move from the doorway as he asked, “What task?” 

 

“To befriend Harry Potter,” Lucius replied, speaking slowly and over-enunciating in order to show his contempt for Draco’s intelligence while poking Draco’s chest with the silver serpent head of his cane. “Now, sit!”

 

Sensing that it was pointless to fight his father, Draco walked over to the chair and sat in it. Lucius slowly followed while flicking his wand at the door so that it would slam shut. The elder Malfoy stared at his son as he circled around the desk and sat down across from Draco. “Now, what have you accomplished, Draco?”

 

“I wrote to him,” Draco said hastily. It was true, after all. He had written to Potter, albeit before Lucius charged him with the burden of getting to know the Gryffindor. 

 

“And what did you say?” Lucius asked.

 

Thinking about the contents of his letter, he looked away from Lucius and studied the intricate patterns in the carpet. He hadn’t betrayed his father, not exactly. In fact, Draco could argue that he had furthered his father’s plans by giving Potter a reason to trust him. Draco decided that a partial truth was better than a lie, and he settled on, “I thanked him for saving my life in the Room of Requirement, and I told him that I owe him a debt.” 

 

Lucius flashed a rare, genuine smile. He slowly leaned forward in his chair while tilting his head to regard Draco with the bemused pleasure he might show a dog that had performed some impressive trick. “Very good, Draco! And what did he say in return?”

 

Draco looked down at the floor, and then back to his father. “He hasn’t replied,” Draco muttered.

 

Lucius sighed while raising his left hand to his forehead and firmly rubbing his fingers and thumb across it. “I gave you a simple and important job, Draco, one that regardless of its simplicity, you cannot complete!”

 

“And what did you expect, Father?” Draco asked, standing up from the chair. “Did you think he would write me a bloody love letter? He doesn’t want to be my friend, not after everything I’ve-- everything you’ve made me do.”

 

“Everything I’ve made you do?” Lucius raised an eyebrow, and his mouth made an “o” of surprise. “Sit down, Draco.”

 

Draco knew that tone of voice. It sounded cool, collected, almost amused, and yet it nearly always heralded pain. For once, he didn’t care that he defied his father. He had written things in that letter to Potter that he had never told anyone, and that four-eyed prat had humiliated him by failing to dignify his words with a reply. Nothing that Lucius could do would hurt any worse than that.

 

“For one thing, I never wanted to be friends with Crabbe and Goyle! They’re fat, lazy sods, both of them; I don’t care who their fathers are or if they are Death Eaters. You forced me to be friends with them and I never want to be seen with...”

 

Draco’s words trailed off, as something outside the stained glass window had caught his attention. In an instant, Draco was sure of what he had seen. It had been a glimpse of white feathers. He hadn’t been able to see the bird clearly through the thick, colored glass, but it had to be Orion with Harry’s reply. Draco met his father’s eyes, and Lucius made a rolling gesture with one hand as if inviting Draco to continue his tirade. A soft tap at the window interrupted everything as Lucius turned in his chair to find the source of the noise. 

 

Draco could not speak. His greatest fear was unfolding in front of him and he could not move to prevent it. The bird tapped on the window again as Lucius reached for the window latch. With a slight creak, the window opened just enough to allow the bird to stick a leg through the opening. All that Draco could see was a glimpse of the bird’s talons and a piece of parchment tied to the leg. Draco watched as Lucius untied the twine, and then he watched a feathered shape flap away from the window ledge and into the sky. Lucius slowly turned back around to face the desk, curiously looking at the envelope. 

 

“Now, let’s see what he has to say,” Lucius said, grinning with anticipation. Draco heard his father speak but could only focus on the brown envelope that Lucius held within his hands. His father would soon know all of the things that he had written to Potter. He would read Potter’s response and then curse his only son to death. Draco could see Lucius screaming at him as he tossed the letter aside and then he would hear the words “Avada Kedavra” come from his father only to be blinded and stuck dead moments later.

 

Lucius slit open the envelope and pulled out a single piece of folded parchment. He let the envelope fall onto the desk, unfolded the parchment, and began reading it. Draco could see his father’s eyes rapidly tracing across each line of the letter as a low growl began to emanate from Lucius. His hands begin to shake as he continued to read the letter, and his lips tightened into a scowl. Draco stood still, oblivious to everything but his father’s reactions to the letter. 

 

“That bastard!” Lucius spat as he slammed the letter down onto the desk. “Who the hell does he think he is?” Several seconds of silence followed as he sat in the chair glaring at the letter. Hastily, Lucius folded the letter and placed it into his pocket. “I must go, immediately! We will finish this conversation upon my return, and for your sake you had better have a plan of action when I return.” Draco watched his father get up and proceed around the desk. 

 

“Wait. I want to know what it said!” Draco heard the words come out of his own mouth, but could hardly believe he had said them. Upon seeing Lucius freeze as he reached for his traveling cloak, Draco knew that he had said the wrong words to his father. He watched as Lucius slowly pivoted to face him, his mouth slightly agape. 

 

When Lucius spoke, his voice had a dry menacing sound to it. “What did you say?” 

 

Draco swallowed hard, realizing his mistake, but jerked his chin toward his father’s breast pocket. “The letter. I want to know what it said.”

 

Lucius’s pale face had begun to redden as anger seeped into it. He took a step toward Draco, leaning forward. “There are matters at stake about which you know nothing!” he hissed. “When I feel it is necessary for you to know of these things, I will tell you!” 

 

“I don’t care!” Draco shouted. Impulsively, he reached for the folded parchment in his father’s pocket, using his left hand. The edge of the parchment sliced into his finger, and he felt a hard sting that soon was followed by the more intense pain of his father’s silver cane smashing into his hand. Draco gasped as the pain raced up his arm. Lucius stepped back away from Draco patting his front pocket and smirking with satisfaction as he felt the letter still in its place. 

 

The smile upon Lucius’s face quickly disappeared. Draco followed Lucius’s intense stare, which was fixed on Draco’s own right hand. To his horror, he realized he had drawn his wand in his fit of anger, and while he hadn’t exactly pointed it at Lucius, the threat was imminently clear. Draco again swallowed hard as he glanced from the trembling tip of his wand to his father’s face.

 

“I see you have grown a backbone,” Lucius said as his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Good. You may yet bring honor to Slytherin.”

 

Draco darted in front of Lucius and stood blocking the path to the door. He forced his hand to stop shaking and raised the wand. “Give me my letter! I mean it!”

 

“How dare you threaten and raise your wand at me!” Lucius snarled, his own wand held at a deceptively casual angle. “I see you still have not learned your lesson; so be it.” The wand twitched with a tiny movement that could have been mistaken for a tic if not for the word that Lucius spoke at the same time. “Crucio!”

 

Draco violently bit his lower lip as the Unforgivable Curse gripped his body. The pain was immense, and he fell to his knees. Draco looked up in vain at his father to plead with him to stop, but Lucius’s eyes glowed like twin blue flames at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Draco heard the faint wooden clink of his wand hitting the floor without having felt it slip from his fingers. His head spun, and for a moment the room went entirely black. Then as quickly as it had been cast upon him, the evil curse was released.

 

Lucius knelt down so that his face was inches away from Draco’s.   
“If you ever dare draw your wand in front of me without my permission again, I will show you what true pain is like. Consider this your warning. The next time I will not be so merciful.”

 

The elder Malfoy raised himself back up to his full height, fastening the traveling cloak around his neck, while Draco collected himself from the effects of the curse. 

 

“Now get out of my sight!” Lucius barked.

 

Draco retrieved his wand and struggled to his feet. For a moment, he stood bent over with his hands on his thighs, catching his breath and waiting for the pain-induced blotches to clear from his vision. The envelope from the letter lay on his father’s desk, and when Draco read the name, he felt a feeble smile on his face. It hadn’t been his reply from Potter after all. Gingerly, he hobbled out of the study and back upstairs to his bedroom relieved, yet very angry with himself.

 

\------------------------------------

 

As Draco approached his bedroom door the house elf, Kraven, apparated in front of him. “Master Malfoy says that young Master Draco has been clumsy again, and for Kraven to assist Master Draco.” 

 

Ignoring Kraven, Draco opened the door to his bedroom, and slammed it in the house-elf’s face. Once inside, he threw himself on the bed, buried his face in the pillow, and let out the screams he had been holding back. He had been beaten, cursed, and worse, he had made a fool of himself, all over nothing! Potter still hadn’t written to him, or perhaps he had, and something horrible had happened to Orion. His eyes began streaming, quickly soaking the pillow, making it damp and unpleasant.

 

A beautiful cry echoed throughout the room, and Draco sprung out of the bed to see Orion at the window, waving his leg to show the message attached to it. Draco crossed the space to the window and threw it open, letting the eagle glide into the room and land gracefully on the bed. 

 

“Kraven!” Draco yelled. The house elf apparated in front of the bed, and bowed.

 

“Young, Master Draco has called for Kraven?” 

 

Draco ignored the question as he fumbled with the knotted twine, forcing the brusied fingers of his left hand to hold the string in place while he picked at it with his right hand.

 

“Master Draco needs Kraven’s help getting his letter?” The house elf asked as he jumped onto the bed ready to snap his fingers. 

 

“Master Draco can untie this knot by himself, Kraven” Draco irritably said as he struggled to untie the final knot. “Now, take Orion with you and feed him.”

 

“As you wish, Master Draco,” Kraven said with another long bow.

 

“And Kraven, shut and lock the door. I don’t want to be disturbed,” Draco said as he unfolded the letter. With a nod from the house elf, the door swiftly closed and locked behind him.

 

Draco hesitantly held the letter in his hands, wondering what he would do if it contained nothing more than some obscenities or a cold reminder of all the things Draco had done to Potter and his friends. 

 

“No,” Draco said aloud to himself. “It wouldn’t be anything like that, it couldn’t be. Potter is too bloody noble to be that way. His Gryffindor honor would demand forgiveness.”

 

Draco unfolded the letter to find Potter’s sloppy, but legible, printing. The note was short and simple, and none of it truly surprised Draco, save for a passage at the end.

 

Draco, you may want to speak to your mother about me when your father is not around. I think you will find that what she has to tell you will be rather interesting.

Harry Potter

 

“I will indeed, Potter,” he said, as he read over the letter once again to make sure that he did not miss anything that the Gryffindor had said. Draco knew that it was time for a mother and son chat; it was time to set a few things straight regarding Harry Potter, and Lucius Malfoy. One more item from Harry’s letter had caught Draco’s eye. For the first time ever that he knew of, Potter had spoken to Draco by writing his first name, and not referring to the Slytherin by his surname. 

 

Draco conjured a small green case that was lying across the room on his mantle above the fireplace. The case was his own personal keepsake that only he knew how to open. Inside, it contained many memorable and sentimental possessions that Draco kept. He placed the letter inside the case, closed the lid, and sent the case back to its place.


	11. The Untold Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite chapters that I have written thus far with this story.  
> So hope everyone reads, enjoy, and please do leave a comment.

Chapter 11: The Untold Truth

 

The silver orb glistened, reflecting back the house elf's dreary, yellow eyes as he rubbed it dry with a soft polishing cloth. When the orb was clean and dry, he placed it back on its stand and reached for a silver, serpent-shaped candleholder. Wincing, he dipped a rag in the tub of silver polish that sat at his feet and began to rub the candleholder, muttering obscenities under his breath. The caustic polish seemed to find all of the raw places on his injured hands, biting into them and making them burn anew. He whimpered as he turned the candlestick in his left hand while working the cloth with his right. 

 

“Kraven!”

 

The house elf jumped at the sound of his name, almost dropping the candleholder onto the floor. He placed the silver back onto the desk, gritted his teeth, and snapped his fingers. A few moments later, he apparated into the bedroom of Draco Malfoy and bowed so deeply that his long nose nearly touched his knees. When the house elf straightened into his usual posture, he saw that Draco sat on his bed, cradling a box inlaid with silver snakes.

 

“What may Kraven do for Master Draco, sir?" He hoped Draco didn't want him to polish the box. 

 

As usual, Draco spoke without looking at Kraven; his attention remained fixed on the little silver box. “Is my father still at home?”

 

“Master Malfoy is not on the grounds, sir. He has gone to conduct his business at the Ministry.”

 

“Good. I want you to go and tell my mother that I wish to speak with her in the west garden.” Draco ran a thumb over the edge of the box. “And you are not to eavesdrop on us!”

 

“Of course not, Master Draco. Kraven will obey and do as Master Draco says.” The house elf nodded in agreement. He raised an arm and curled his fingers, but before snapping them, he took a step toward Draco. The movement caught Draco’s attention, and for a moment, his steel-grey eyes met Kraven’s. Frowning, he ran his eyes over the house elf before finally fixing them on Kraven's hands. 

 

“Kraven, why are your hands bandaged?” Draco asked. “They weren't like that last night when you were in my bedroom.”

 

Kraven looked at his loosely wrapped, bandaged hands and painfully flexed them. He shrugged. “Punishment, young Master Draco. It is Kraven’s punishment.” 

 

“Punishment… for what?” Draco demanded. “I didn't tell you to punish yourself, now, did I?” 

 

“Kraven was clumsy, and so Kraven was punished by Master Malfoy.” The house elf said as he slowly held out the poorly bandaged hands for Draco to see more clearly. “Master Malfoy was angry at Kreacher for not tending to young Master Draco’s injuries last night.”

 

“I didn't ask you to tend to my bloody injuries!” Draco snapped. “Did you tell him that?”

 

“Kraven had to obey Master Malfoy’s command. Kraven had to grab the fire that burned inside of the living room fireplace. Afterwards, Master Malfoy ordered Kraven to polish the silver that is in the manor. Kraven was given a direct order not to heal the burns on Kraven’s hands, nor to use magic to polish the silver. Kraven will do as Master Malfoy orders, but Kraven hopes that Master Draco will not be clumsy, and suffer Master Malfoy’s wrath.”

 

Draco’s lips curled into a snarl, and he snorted while lightly rubbing his own fingers. “Yeah, I won’t be clumsy again.”

 

“Very good, Master Draco, but Kraven thinks that young Master Malfoy was clumsy with his tongue, much like Madame Malfoy.”

 

“He didn't!” Draco shouted as he kicked the wall hard enough to make a crack in the plaster, which Kraven quickly repaired with his magic. “That bloody bastard! He said he wouldn’t hurt her!” 

 

“It is safest not to cross Master Malfoy, Kraven has learned,” the house elf said softly. “Kraven will go and find the lady of the house, and have her meet Master Draco in the west garden. Be safe, young Master Draco.” 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Each time Narcissa visited the west garden of Malfoy Manor, she was struck by its beauty. Stretching for many acres was an intricate labyrinth of hedgerows that were decorated with an amazing assortment of flowers. That, combined with the placement of several different types of trees along with the beautiful, golden trimmed mermaid fountain located at the front of the courtyard, made this part of Malfoy Manor seem like something from a fairy tale. It was the one part of the manor that was not redolent of dark magic and despair.

 

Narcissa hurried along the cobblestone walkway, hardly noticing the splendor around her. Her eyes slid over the blooming chrysanthemums and the exquisite marble sculptures as she searched for Draco. When she saw him, she froze, wanting to watch him for a moment before making him aware of her presence. 

 

Draco sat on a stone bench under a maple tree, staring into the pink-tinged evening sky. She smiled, admiring his height, his fine, silver-blond hair, and the clean lines of his face. He had become a beautiful young man. He did not remind her so much of her husband Lucius, but instead, he favored her own father, Cygnus Black. Her father had been a handsome and strong man in his time, and Draco had many qualities that he had possessed. 

 

Narcissa knew that any young woman would be fortunate to one day call Draco her husband. She had always known that Draco was a beautiful child, but right now, at this moment, he was stunning with the setting sun emblazoning him with its colors. Glad that no one was watching her, she dabbed her eyes wither fingertips, wiping away the beginnings of sentimental tears. When she was satisfied that her face was dry, she approached Draco and laid a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Draco. You wished to speak to me.”

 

Startled by her touch, Draco snapped out of his private daydream and twisted to face her. “Yes, mother, I wish to speak to you. I have a few questions that I would like to ask.” He placed his hand over hers, took hold of it, and tugged until Narcissa joined him on the bench. As she sat down, she marveled at how soft her son's hands felt.

 

Narcissa kept her eyes locked with Draco’s, but smoothed her skirt with both hands. In her mind, she practiced her replies. No, your father would never hurt me. Of course, he has never hexed me. Yes, I know exactly what he is planning, and it’s what is best for our family. With all my heart, I trust him.

 

Forcing herself to smile, she replied, “Ask me anything, Draco. Anything you wish.”

 

“Mother, I want to know…” Draco hesitated before continuing with the question. “I want to know the secrets regarding Harry Potter.” 

 

Narcissa felt her eyebrows shoot up, and her mouth opened in surprise before she could school her face into a mask of neutrality. Of all of the secrets that she kept, she had not expected Draco to ask about those involving Harry Potter.

 

“Secrets, Draco, I am unsure what you are talking about?” Narcissa tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion.

 

“Ever since we have returned home from school, you and Father have been constantly arguing. I know that it’s not all about the Dark Lord. I know that part of it is about Potter.” Draco spoke softly, imitating Lucius’s voice in a way that Narcissa found more frightening than she would ever admit.

 

Narcissa’s blue eyes looked away from her son’s as she got up and walked over to a rose bush. Draco followed and stood looming over her as she reached for one of the blossoms. She touched the rose very carefully, admiring the beauty of its deep, red petals. She knew her son was standing beside her, reading her every action. “These roses are beautiful,” she began, “I was surprised that your father allowed me to create this garden. It is the one true thing at this house that I can say is mine.” A note of bitterness had crept into her voice, and she glanced up at Draco. His lip had begun to curl in contempt; he had far too many of Lucius’s mannerisms.

 

“Harry Potter,” she continued, “is very much like this rose. You have to take constant care of it. You can shape it, encourage it to grow, and admire it for its beauty, yet you must be aware of the danger that it carries. To most people of the Wizarding World, Potter is a hero, someone who will lead them out of the darkness. He is their leader, just as a rose is the leader of the flower kingdom. Many other flowers are beautiful in their own individual ways, but a rose is king in its own beauty.” 

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ask you about your stupid roses. Say what you mean, Mother!”

 

She sighed, irritated, although not surprised at her son’s impatience. “When you see a rose bush son, do you reach into it to grab the stem?” 

 

“No,” Draco snorted as he folded his arms across his chest, clearly out of patience with Narcissa’s lecture on botany.

 

“Roses have thorns for a reason, to help them survive. Potter has his thorns, which have helped him to survive the Dark Lord. He will always carry these thorns with him, for Harry Potter will always have enemies within the Wizarding World. You must handle a rose with care and understanding. Respect the king of flowers and in return, it will give you the beauty that you see before you in this one single flower.

 

“Respect Harry Potter, dear, and he could be a more powerful ally than you can imagine.” She let go of the rose and turned to face her son, expecting an angry reply.

 

Instead, Draco studied his shoes and said softly, "I do. Mother, I began to write a letter to Potter after hearing your argument downstairs. I didn't know exactly what to say, so I did not finish it that night, and instead went to bed. The next morning, when I awoke, Kraven told me that Father wanted to speak to me, alone, in his study. It was after this conversation that I knew what I wanted to say to Potter, and I finished the letter after I returned to my bedroom. 

 

Narcissa raised an eyebrow, surprised that her son had taken such initiative. "And what did you say?" she asked cautiously. Narcissa was very much surprised that her son had taken the time to write a letter to Harry Potter. She was used to hearing of Draco's correspondences from his teachers; usually, his notes to Harry had involved vile language and bullying threats that even Professor McGonagall had blushed when repeating. She also made a reminder to question Lucius about this conversation that he and Draco had held in private.

 

Draco collapsed onto the bench and folded his hands in his lap. “I tried to make amends with Potter for the hell that I have had to put him and his friends through for the last seven years. I also thanked him for saving my life." Narcissa inhaled sharply while her hands lightly trembled as Draco continued. "In his reply I think he accepted my letter, and he apologized for his own words and actions against me.” Draco shook his head and chuckled dryly. "That just made me feel worse, of course, and I'm sure he knows! It's like he knows exactly how to pull my strings."

 

Narcissa ruffled her son's hair and bit her lip to stifle a giggle of her own. Only Draco could be foolish enough to take an apology as an intentional slight. “It is a start, Draco," she told him, letting her hand slide over his smooth hair and onto his shoulder. "It's a new beginning for you, for this family, and for Harry Potter, too."

 

"There's something else, Mother." Draco turned his head and searched Narcissa's face before locking his eyes with hers. "Potter told me to ask you something. He said that you would have some information to tell me, but only if I asked when Father wasn't around."

 

Narcissa swallowed and ran her tongue over her lips, which suddenly felt dry. "Yes, Draco, there is something that you do not know about regarding that particular night at Hogwarts."

 

She closed her eyes for a moment making sure to remember every last detail of that night. It had plagued her in her dreams, not knowing if her own son was dead or alive, and knowing that Voldemort had forced her and Lucius there. 

 

“I can say that it was the bravest thing that I have seen anyone ever do,” Narcissa whispered to her son as she opened her eyes and let the tears roll down her cheeks. “He walked right to us. He did not raise his wand or even try to block the spell. He sacrificed himself. The Dark Lord laughed at his bravery, and at his willingness to challenge him unarmed. He sent a killing curse that hit Potter directly over his heart. Potter flew backwards and landed on the ground, while the Dark Lord staggered and fell to one knee. He was unprepared for the reaction that he would receive from doing this to Potter.”

 

Draco stared at his mother. She was crying now, but she didn't bother to wipe the tears. They continued to roll down her cheeks as she relived that moment in her mind and spoke it aloud.

 

“Bella began to approach the boy, but the Dark Lord made her stop. Instead, I was told to examine him to see if he was dead. I slowly walked over to him, and then kneeled down beside him. His shirt and robes had a dark, burned mark on them where the curse had hit him. I lightly placed my hand over his heart, not expecting to feel a heartbeat. To my shock, it was beating stronger than ever. He was still alive. I leaned closer to him, letting my hair fall around our faces, and faintly whispered to him. I asked if you were still alive, and he whispered that you were. In that instant, I knew that I could not let the Dark Lord kill him. I needed him. I needed the Boy Who Lived to save my Draco. I knew that the only way that any of us would ever be safe again from the Dark Lord would rest with Harry Potter."

 

Narcissa looked into her son’s eyes, which were now wide with surprise.

 

“So, I lied to the Dark Lord, and told him that Potter was dead. Bella began to laugh and he forced the half-giant, Hagrid, to carry the boy in his arms back to the school.

 

“Once the Dark Lord had finished speaking to the school outside of the castle, the battle resumed, and your father and I quickly ran inside frantically searching for you.” 

 

Draco nodded to himself, wearing a satisfied smirk. "So my mother saved the great Harry Potter? Good. We’re even, then."

 

"Even, Draco?" Narcissa repeated, not understanding. 

 

Draco looked over his shoulder, first left, and then right, as if making sure they were truly alone. “Mother, that night, Potter and his friends saved me. It happened in the Room of Requirement, as we were trying to capture him and his friends for the Dark Lord. Crabbe unleashed the Fiendfyre curse, not aware of how dangerous of a curse it is. The fire spread throughout the whole room and I became trapped by it. Potter and his friends jumped on broomsticks and flew up into the air. He saw that I was trapped by the flames and came back down to rescue me. We then flew through the entrance door and crashed into the corridor wall. Had Potter not done that, I would have been dead.” 

 

Narcissa was sobbing harder now as she listened to how her only son came so close to dying that night. 

 

“I ran after that," Draco continued, "I was so scared, Mother. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. I knew the castle was under attack; I could feel it shake, so I ran. I went to the safest place that I knew of, the dungeons. All I could think of was to hide until it was all over with.” 

 

Draco stopped speaking for a moment and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Then I heard you and father calling my name.” He looked away from his mother and at the lingering glow of the sun, which now had gone behind the horizon created by the forest beyond the garden wall. “I am sorry, Mother, if you are disappointed in me for not fighting, and for running away.”

 

“Draco, you are still alive because of your decision to run. That is all that matters to me. I care nothing for the Dark Lord's cause. You are what matters most to be Draco, your happiness." 

 

She embraced her son and held him, knowing that this was a rare moment for the two of them. Draco returned the embrace with a very forceful yet gentle hug of his own. Tears ran down Narcissa’s cheeks and into her son’s hair. 

 

After what seemed like several minutes, they separated. Narcissa drew a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes while Draco swiped at his face with the back of his hand, trying to make the gesture look casual.

 

Draco heaved a noisy sigh and looked down at the ground, his hands fidgeting with the fold of his robe. His face flushed, turning a deep, unflattering shade of red. "There's something more I want to tell you. Father also wants me to be friends with Potter," he said, his tone flat.

 

"Then your Father and I are in agreement," Narcissa replied. She wondered what Machiavellian scheme her husband could be planning, but she would find that out later. For now, all she wanted for her son was a friend, a powerful friend who could protect him from all of the evils of the wizarding world.

 

"I don't know if I can, Mother," Draco whispered.

 

"Nonsense! You said yourself that Potter forgave you for all of the rubbish Lucius encouraged you to do to him." 

 

"But I still want to do things to him, Mother." Draco's blush deepened, and a bead of sweat trickled from his temple down into the collar of his robe. "I think I still hate him for everything, every bloody little thing! For being brilliant at Quidditch, for getting favors from Dumbledore, for embarrassing Slytherin, for refusing me when I tried to shake his hand. That was seven years ago, and I can't forget it, Mother! I can't stop thinking about him, and I want to --",

 

"You want to do what, Draco?" Narcissa whispered. Her heart beat faster, and her thoughts raced. She wondered just how thoroughly Lucius had warped her son's soul.

 

"I told you!" Draco snapped. "I want to do things to him." He gestured vaguely with both arms, flapping his hands in a way that gave no clue as to the meaning of his words.

 

"You want to kill him? Curse him? Torture him?" Narcissa asked, surprising herself with the cool, steady tone of her voice.

 

"No!" Draco shouted, pounding a fist against the bench. "No," he repeated, quietly this time. "Worse. I want to do things with him, humiliating and disgusting things. I can't stop thinking about it every time I hear his name! I have dreams about it at night, and when I wake up, the first thing that I think about is I wish that dream were real."

 

"Draco you are not making any sense. Have you taken ill? Is it-- is it because of the war that you-- "Narcissa started, the irritation beginning to seep into her voice, but was cut off mid-word by Draco.

 

"No!" Draco shook his head. His eyes were streaming now. "It's Potter. It's always been Potter. He makes me insane, Mother! I want to grab him and…and," Draco drew in a long, deep raspy breath. "And…have him. I want to--"

 

Narcissa held up a hand, palm outward, stopping Draco's confession. Draco grabbed her hand and lightly pressed it against his cheek, cupping the right side of his face and his jawline. Her hand trembled while Draco held it there, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 

“Do you understand, Mother?” Draco whispered. 

 

Narcissa inhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment and replaying Draco's words in her mind. When she opened her eyes and looked at her son's face again, something clicked into place. Draco's hatred-- no, Draco's passion-- for Harry Potter made a twisted, adolescent kind of sense. At that age, love could be confused with hatred, and lustful longings could be mistaken for more violent urges.

 

She nodded, scrubbing at her eyes with her free hand. “I understand.”

 

"I'm sorry, Mum," Draco whispered hoarsely, taking her hand from his face and now holding it with both of his over his beating heart. "If I could stop thinking about him, if there was any way I could get him out of my head, I--Don't you think I'd do anything not to disappoint you?"

 

"Oh, Draco!" She jerked her hand free so that she could wrap both arms around her son and squeeze him hard. "I'm not disappointed. You could never disappoint me, my son. I am frightened that if Lucius finds out…"

 

"He won't, Mother," Draco muttered into her hair. "I promise, he won't.  
I'll never tell anyone what I've told you today."

 

Narcissa pulled away from Draco but kept her hands on his shoulders. “Not anyone?” 

 

“Not anyone,” Draco repeated, averting his eyes. 

 

“Hmm.” Narcissa bit her lip. For now, silence was the wisest course of action. She hated the thought of her son being taunted, being an outsider. He wouldn't be able to bear it, not when he was used to being the best, a pureblood, a Slytherin, and a Malfoy. The ridicule would drive him insane. Still, she did not wish him to live his life alone, or to trap himself in a travesty of a marriage to Pansy Parkinson or some other socially advantageous woman. She sighed. “What if-- what if someday there is someone else, some other young man that you--”

 

“There will never be anyone but Potter!” Draco snapped.

 

In spite of herself, Narcissa smiled. “You don't hate him at all, do you?”

 

“I--” Draco scowled down at the ground. “I suppose not.” 

 

Narcissa felt a lump form in her throat. She loved Draco more for admitting that, and to her own surprise, she cared very little that the object of her son's affection was male, Gryffindor, and half-blood. She hated what she had to say next, so she said it quickly, almost in one breath. “You realize that if you were to tell him that you have these feelings toward him, you could lose all chance of befriending him? Without the aid of a powerful friend in these times, being a Malfoy will not be enough to protect you.”

 

“I know!” Draco growled. “I'm not bloody stupid, Mum! I realize I can't ever tell Potter any of this.” 

 

Narcissa spread her hands and looked down at the backs of them. “I did not say that. Draco, I want you to do what your heart tells you it must do, but consider the risk you are taking. We will deal with the consequences when we must. Right now, I just want you to be happy in your life. Decide for yourself what that means.”

 

"This changes everything, doesn't it, Mother?" Draco said softly.

 

The sun had sunken below the trees now, and the day was rapidly fading. Narcissa shivered, telling herself it was only because of the night chill. She wrapped her arms around Draco and rocked him as if he were a small child once more. “It creates a new chapter for us. It changes nothing about the love I have for my only son.”


	12. The Greater Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I do hope that every reader that has read this story thus far has enjoyed it. It is a roller coaster of a story.  
> This chapter you will see what really set Lucius off in Chapter 10. Also, you will see a darker side to Phillipe and understand his character a bit more. So I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and please do leave a comment or drop me an e-mail about any chapter or this story.

Chapter 12: The Greater Good

 

The small field mouse scurried along the open ground, desperate to make it back into the shelter of the tree that lay on the ground. Somewhere above, a large owl hooted from the treetops. Its large, amber eyes surveyed the landscape below, waiting to spot the slightest movement within the grass. Suddenly the owl leapt from the branch and swooped down, capturing the mouse. The stillness of the night was broken by the shrill squeals from the mouse as the razor sharp talons ripped into the soft flesh, completing the kill. Again the forest was silent except for a low breeze that stirred through the trees, creating a ghostly sound. 

 

The ancient oaks and elms surrounded the small cottage, isolating it from the rest of the world. It was a small, white home with blue painted shutters and flower boxes beneath its two tiny windows. A cottage garden sprawled all around it, and the air smelled of lavender, lilac, and kerosene. 

 

The door to the cottage lay awkwardly open and partially unhinged as if a large force had propelled the door inward. Inside, on the floor of the small living room, was a large, rusted container with its cap unscrewed. The sweet, cloying vapors wafting from the can were strong enough to make a man’s head spin. A large hand grabbed the handle of the can and lifted it upwards.

 

“For Merlin’s sake, don’t do this!” A man’s voice cried out in terror. “Please, I beg of you! I have...” 

 

A gloved fist struck the pleading man's face, knocking him across the room. The back of his head collided with a family portrait that hung on the wall, breaking the glass, and causing fragments to pierce into the back of his scalp. Immediately, blood began to flow down the back of his neck, staining the silky, white nightshirt. The large hand set the container back down onto the floor, and the gloved man walked over to where his target lay crumpled in a fetal position. 

 

“Get up, you!” the deep voice commanded. “Get up, you’re not dead. Not yet, anyway.” 

 

The man on the floor screamed as two large hands grabbed him by his shirt collar and heaved him upward with ease, sitting him in one of the wooden chairs.

 

“W--who, who are you? Why are you attacking us?” the man asked as blood oozed from his battered mouth and nose. 

 

The man’s hand paused momentarily as he reached for his robe pocket. “Who am I?” He chuckled while continuing on with his previous action. “Well, I will tell you. I am... merely a face.” He pulled out a roll of muggle duct tape and held it in his gloved hands. “I am...your judge,” he continued as he ripped a piece of the gray tape from the roll with a sickening, shredding sound. “Your jury,” he snarled, as he wrenched the man’s wrists violently together and wrapped them tightly with the tape. He tore off another longer piece and wrapped it around the man’s legs, binding them together, and then around the legs of the chair so that the man could not move. “And, your ...executioner,” he finished as a cold smile spread across his face. He tore off one last piece from the roll of the sticky, gray tape wrapping it around the chest of the man as well as the back of the chair. He stepped back slowly to admire his work as an artist would to admire a painting. 

 

“Now, before you are condemned, do you have anything useful to say?” Phillipe questioned as he held the tape in his large, gloved hands. “Any… words of wisdom? Any soul-bearing confessions?" 

 

“Please I beg of you, please do not do this! I have two small...” 

 

“I don’t give a damn what you have!” Phillipe spat at the man as he placed the tape across the man’s mouth. The man tried to scream as Phillipe raised the container and tossed the contents forward, splashing it into the face of the gagged man. His muffled sounds became louder as he writhed back and forth, trying to shake the kerosene from his face. His struggles grew more desperate, and the chair toppled sideways so that he lay on the floor watching his attacker continue his work. Phillipe walked through the little cottage soaking every room with the accelerant. 

 

He walked back into the living room and knelt down to grab the man’s hair, lifting his head and neck from the soaked floor. With his opposite hand, Phillipe tore the man’s sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark on the man’s forearm, or at least the portion of it that wasn’t covered by the duct tape. Phillipe pushed up the robe on his own left arm to reveal the faded Dark Mark. “All hail Lord bloody Voldemort,” he whispered into the man’s ear, and then threw him back down onto the kerosene soaked floor.

 

He stepped over the man and proceeded out the doorway until something under his food made a loud “crack” that caused him to stop and look down. Expecting to see the shards of a broken bottle glistening in the predawn light, he was mildly amused to see that a porcelain doll stared up at him. The arm of the doll had been shattered, yet the cherubic face smiled at Phillipe in an expression of eternal bliss. He lowered his hand and brought the doll out from under his large foot, smiling wickedly at it as he held it in front of his face. He studied the doll for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket and continuing out the doorway.

 

“I have...” Phillipe muttered to himself, mimicking the man’s pleading tone. “You, mate, have brats who don’t put their damned toys away.”

 

Sitting on the outside walkway in the predawn moonlight was another large container with the lid opened. Phillipe seized the can and proceeded splashing the outside of the cottage with the liquid. He shook the container until it was empty and then tossed it into the tangle of herbs and flowers.

 

From his pocket he drew out a tiny box, from which he pulled a short wooden stick. The stick was, in fact, a clever muggle device, one that would allow him to complete his assignment without the possibility of having his work traced back to his wand. He ran the stick across a strip of abrasive paper pasted onto the front of the box, and the tip burst into flame. A casual flick of his wrist sent the stick tumbling end over end until it landed in the lilac bushes next to the door. 

 

The garden began to bloom with flame, a riot of orange and yellow that swept through the dry twigs and grass and soon began to climb the walls of the house, enveloping the window boxes and shutters. The fire raced a trail of flame and destruction through the open doorway and into the living room, scorching everything in its path. The muffled screams became high pitched as the roar of the blaze continued while the house groaned and crackled. Impatient with the pace of the fire, Phillipe felt into his pocket and extracted the porcelain doll. He smiled again at the doll and walked over toward the burning cottage. Holding his breath to avoid the smoke, he brought the doll close to the fire, dangling it by its bulbous, white head. When the doll's dress had burst into flame, he tossed the toy through one of the windows, easily shattering the heat-weakened glass. More screams came from inside the room where he had thrown the burning doll. 

 

Phillipe stepped back and closely watched the house in case anyone came running out. He could not allow any witnesses to survive his work. With this thought in his mind, along with the Minister’s dire warning, he stood out of reach from the flames and waited. 

 

By sunrise, the roof had collapsed, and the flames had begun to die. Phillipe had heard no voices since the screams that came from the room with the shattered window. He slowly walked around the burnt remains of the cottage, smiling and pleased with his handiwork. He came back to his original location and walked into the area that was once the bedroom where he had thrown the porcelain doll. Carefully, he sifted through the burned debris with his foot until something caught his attention. Among the blackened ashes he saw a light- colored fragment. The doll’s head stared up at him, cracked and smoke-stained, but still gracing him with its full, upturned lips. 

 

“Well, at least you won’t tell any tales, will you?” he asked chuckling to himself. Scanning the area around the scorched doll, Phillipe saw two small, charred bodies huddled close to one another in what was once a small closet. He starred at the two burned corpses, their tiny bones now blackened. Just like the doll, they would tell no tales.

 

“Message delivered, Minister,” he said aloud. The man inside the house had been the last on the parchment that he had memorized and then burned.

 

Yawning, Phillipe reached into his pocket, retrieved his wand, and prepared to apparate. He could spend the rest of the day resting, and tonight he would set out for a drink and look for more work to do.

 

\------------------------------

 

Although the office had been quiet for the past half hour, Kingsley Shacklebolt found himself alternately looking for owls at the window and glancing at the door in expectation of some harried assistant bearing “urgent” news. He had learned to expect nearly constant interruptions, and he had come to dread the words, “Sir, if you have a moment...” more than he had ever dreaded the prospect of a battle. A good honest fight, after all, carried both the thrill of danger and the chance for glory. Battles could be won or lost. Ministry work, on the other hand, brought only endless tedium. Each day was a succession of choices, each of which made someone irate at being denied and emboldened someone else to ask for more. He was scarcely halfway through reading the stack of papers on his desk, and already he wanted to burn the lot of them. 

 

His chain of office chafed the back of his neck. The burden of responsibility that it carried seemed heavier with each passing day. Kingsley tossed the parchment onto the desk and looked down at the livery that rested on top of his purple and blue robes. His large hand closed around the emblem, and for a moment he considered flinging it out the window. If this position was his reward for valor, perhaps he would have been better off to hide in the shadows. With a sigh of resignation, he picked up the next document in the stack-- a petition for an increase in funding for security at Hogwarts-- and began to read. 

 

The heavy mahogany door of his office flung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang and bouncing back to strike the man who had opened it. "Damn it!" the man snarled as he regained his balance after the unexpected blow, and briskly straightened his robes. A gloved hand pressed the argentine hair back into place as he thrust out his chest and rapped the door with his silver snake's head cane. The door hit the wall again and bounced back to close behind the man. 

 

Refusing to reward such an entrance with a greeting, Kingsley continued to study the petition. His visitor crossed the small room in two long strides and slammed a letter down on Kingsley's desk with enough force to rattle the inkpot, causing a stack of parchment to fall into the floor. Unimpressed by the man's theatrics, Kingsley continued to read about the benefits of warding charms and the need for gold to hire junior Aurors. When he reached the end of the document, he shook his head, wondering how he would draft a diplomatic refusal. He could consider that later. 

 

For now, he leaned back in his chair, pressing his palms together and resting his chin on the tips of his steepled fingers. His visitor glared, red-faced, while leaning forward with one fist on the edge of Kingley's desk and the other clutching the snake staff. 

 

“Lucius,” Kingsley said, smiling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

 

“You know, Minister, why I am here.” The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched, but his face remained surprisingly neutral. He gestured with his cane to the letter on the desk. “Did you truly write this, or is it some trickery?” 

 

Kingsley glanced down at the heavy envelope, which bore his broken seal. He did not need to open it to answer; he could hardly be expected to recall every one of his thousands of pieces of correspondence, but he remembered this particular one. It had not been an easy letter to write. He forced himself to look Malfoy in the eye as he answered, “I did, Lucius.”

 

“And what could compel the honorable minister to break a promise?” Malfoy asked, sitting down in the chair opposite Kingsley. “I have done everything you asked. I have delivered invaluable information concerning the remaining Death Eaters! I lead you to Rahl Nocens, I exposed Cersei Pravus, I--”

 

“True,” Kingsley interrupted. “Partially, at least. You have supplied us with some information that has been very useful in helping the Ministry capture Death Eaters and sympathizers to the Dark Lord, many of whom were also debtors of the Malfoy estate or partners in joint business ventures--”

 

“Which is why I had information on those individuals!” Malfoy snapped. “Of course my own associates are the witches and wizards of whom I have the most accurate knowledge.” 

 

Kingsley sighed and spread his hands. “Be that as it may, we cannot supply the Aurors to help protect you and your family. They are needed elsewhere for other Ministry assignments." 

 

“And what assignments are more important than the lives of my innocent wife and child, Minister?” Malfoy asked, his voice catching in his throat.

 

Kingsley refused to flinch, although Malfoy's words made him sick with shame. “As I said in the letter, their innocence, and yours, has yet to be determined. The Wizengamot feel that the Ministry must be more pro-active in our search for Death Eaters. Aurors alone will not capture them all, and every Death Eater who turns himself in peacefully means lives spared on all sides. We need to send the message that the Ministry is powerful enough that resistance is futile.”

 

“And so you are forcing me and my family to stand trial,” Malfoy said, his voice low and thick with both anger and fear. “Tell me, Minister, on what charges are we accused?” 

 

"You know all too well, Lucius that you conspired in numerous killings against wizards and Muggles, even killing some of them yourself. Also, let us not forget that you led your fellow Death Eaters on attack raids into the Ministry of Magic."

 

“Under coercion by the Dark Lord!” Malfoy protested. “You have no idea the powers he possessed. You have lived among wizards restrained by laws, conventions, limited magic, and even more limited imagination. You cannot begin to conceive of the torments the Dark Lord is capable of inflicting.” 

 

Kingsley smiled, unwilling to show the former Death Eater any sympathy. “I am sure you can explain all of that at your trial. In two weeks time you and your family will stand in front of the full Wizengamot. I warned you so that you can prepare. It was the least I owed you for your assistance. I cannot help you any longer.”

 

“And what of my heir?” Malfoy demanded. “Draco is a mere child, Minister!”

 

Kingsley closed his eyes briefly, thinking, Merlin forgive me. When he opened them, he shook his head. “I am sorry, Lucius. Draco is a responsible young man, and he is of age. He will stand trial for the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore.” 

 

Malfoy's hand flew to the breast of his cloak, his face crimson and his mouth twitched with fury. 

 

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "If you reach for your wand, Lucius, that is a threat against the Minister of Magic. You will go directly to Azkaban. Who will speak for your wife and son then?"

 

Seething, Malfoy lowered his hand and then rose to his feet. He snatched his letter from the desk and tore it into pieces, which he flung at Kingsley's face. “You have made a dangerous enemy, Minister. This is your gravest mistake yet.” 

 

Kingsley stood and calmly brushed the bits of paper from his face and robes. “I am not some feeble bureaucrat Lucius, I am an Auror; a soldier. Would you face me, wand against wand, man against man?” 

 

Lucius made a “tssk!” sound, and his lips curled into a half-smile. “I don't need to face you, Minister. I can ruin you! What do you think the council will do if they find out you have been conspiring with the likes of me? And if they begin asking questions about the all-too-convenient disappearances of certain suspects...” He whirled on the spot and bristly walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

 

Kingsley opened the top drawer of his desk. Inside, he kept a bottle of firewhiskey, which he had planned to reserve for celebrating victories or taking the sting from defeats. Being Minister of Magic had turned out to be a constant battle, one which he never knew whether he was winning or losing, and so several weeks ago, he had given in and opened the bottle. He sipped from it now, enjoying the pleasant burn which spread from his throat to his belly and outward until it filled even the tips of his fingers and toes. 

 

Even that was not sufficient to vanquish the chilling truth; he could not afford to have Lucius Malfoy as an enemy. He had hoped that by warning Malfoy he could give him time to prepare a defense, one that would make the council see reason. He had counted on Malfoy's ability to remain calm and rational, to work within the system. In retrospect, he had miscalculated, and now he was being blackmailed. 

 

He took another sip from the bottle and muttered, “Merlin, forgive me,” with his mouth still pressed against the smooth glass. He knew what he needed done and who he needed to do it, and he was reasonably sure where to find that man. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

The buildings loomed over the crooked street and leaned toward each other like whispering conspirators. The cobblestone walkway was severely weathered, and pieces of it were missing; no doubt, this was the result of many drunken duels with poorly aimed curses and hexes. A number of the establishments had wooden boards magically placed across the windows. Business had plummeted with the demise of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. 

 

This part of Knockturn Alley, Kingsley reflected, smelled abysmal. The stench of sulfur and ammonia mingled with the sweet, acrid scent of vomit, which grew stronger as he neared his destination. As Kingsley made his way toward the pub where he had first met the assassin, he passed a man who lifted his arm to show that the inside of his greatcoat was decorated with an array of tiny pouches containing herbs and powders. 

 

"Hey mate," the dealer called out to the disguised Kingsley, "want a bargain? It's a deal you can't refuse." 

 

Kingsley stopped walking and looked back at the filthy man and his products. "A deal I can't refuse, you say?" Kingsley asked raising his eyebrow. His curiosity had gotten the better of him.

 

"Aye. I guarantee it. See these little pouches?" the dealer said, as he pointed at one of the bags tied to the lining of his coat. "Each one is guaranteed to make your little lady fawn and crave over you all night long. She won't stop beggin for ya, mate!" Kingsley stood in place, unimpressed with the sales pitch. "Oh, I see." the dealer said, "You go that way, eh?" 

 

Kingsley could feel his face darken with anger. The hawker raised his hands, fingers spread and palms outward as he continued, "No worries, I'm not here to judge, just to sell. So, for your man, give him one little drop of this liquid and he will be screaming your name all night long, guaranteed!" He said, as he pointed to a tiny bottle tied to his coat. 

 

"No deal." Kingsley said as he made a mental note in his mind to send a Patronus back to the Ministry for someone to arrest this dealer, as soon as he could.

 

The dealer limped off the edge of the sidewalk coming within inches of Kingsley. He put his hand up to shield his mouth and whispered, "I know what you want, then." The dealer gently elbowed Shacklebolt in the ribs and winked while opening the other side of his grey coat. "Ah, yes! Their beauties aren't they matie! Time-turners!"

 

Kingsley's first thought was to grab the man by his neck and shove him against the wall, and strangle the life from the wretched wizard for selling illegal items. However, before the thought could flow through his mind another tempting thought barged into his brain. It was the temptation of defeating Voldemort, himself. He could purchase a time-turner, go back into time, and kill Voldemort before he ever came to power, thus saving the wizarding world. He could be a hero and not a battle-weary survivor. Remus, Sirius, Nymphadora--so many witches and wizards needn't die, if he could just do this one small task. 

 

His hand reached out toward the glittering time-turners, inches away from holding the key to the past and the future in his hand. His fingers faintly touched it before the coat was pulled away, completely out of reach. "Well mate? Do we have a deal or not? I can see that you really do fancy one of these little gems," the man said, rubbing his hands together.

 

The loss of the touch seemed to revive Kingsley as he remembered why he was here in this disgusting part of Diagon Alley. "No!" Kingsley shouted. 

 

"No?" the dealer mocked. "There's nothing you'd change? No lost loves, no last wages, no reason to wonder 'what if…'?

 

“If those devices worked, why would you be here?” Kingsley asked. “You could have made your fortune betting on today's Quidditch match yesterday.” With that, he walked past the man without bothering to look back. He rounded a corner and flicked his wand, sending the lynx patronus to the Ministry office. "That's one less piece of trash to clean up," he said continuing his way toward the Silver Wolf.

 

Minutes later he was outside the Silver Wolf. Standing across the cobblestones was a young witch in a short, green dress. She laughed and battered her long eyelashes toward Kingsley while placing her index finger onto her lips and suckling the tip of it. Giggling as if she found herself amusing, she blew a kiss toward him and bent forward to better display herself. She had a Hogwarts tie around her thin neck, the ends of it pointing down at her breasts.

 

He walked over toward the red-haired, young girl feigning interest in her. He paused beside her as she tossed her hair back and lightly traced her finger around the muscular outlines of Kingley's chest.

 

"What can I do for you, love?" 

 

"You could do a lot for me." Kingsley answered as he placed his large arm around her back and pulled the witch closer to him. "As a matter of fact, you could do plenty for me." 

 

"Oh, love! I adore love it when a big, strong, man like you talks to me that way," she replied with excitement. "I just love a tall, dark, and mysterious man," she oozed, twitching the tip of her tongue between her lips. The young girl reached up and ran her fingers through the long, thick curls that formed the basis of his disguise.

 

Kingsley pretended to smile as he brought her closer, inspecting her Hogwarts tie, but also looking into the scarlett's eyes. "Yes, tell me, my little rosebud, are you a Slytherin at Hogwarts?"

 

"The girl's smile wilted. “I was. School's closed now. Idiots in the Ministry say it's not safe to return. Why do you care?”

 

Kingsley winced. He had been about to tell her that she shamed her house and made a mockery of its colors, but now he was the one who was ashamed. He cupped her chin in one hand, holding her face so that she had to look him in the eyes. “I promise you that when I return from my business appointment in the Silver Wolf, I will take you home and give you everything you deserve. Wait for me here. No running off with some other man!" He wagged a finger for emphasis. “Whatever price you are offered, I will match it.” 

 

He released the young witch and walked toward the pub while secretly sending another Patronus to his office. He wanted to make sure that some Ministry official would come and take her someplace safe until classes could resume. Once Hogwarts was back in session, Minerva McGonagall would have a few choice lessons for this pupil.

 

The doorman, or perhaps door-being would be a more appropriate label, of the Silver Wolf glared up at Kingsley from beneath a set of heavy brows and stroked his hairy, wart-riddled chin with one clawed finger. He looked part troll, part goblin, and at most half-human. After Kingsley handed him a coin, he grunted and stepped aside, allowing the minister to work the heavy silver latch and enter the establishment.

 

A haze of bluish smoke hung in the air, and the smell inside was more intense that it had been outdoors. In the center of the large common room, musicians played at the base of a stage, upon which a lioness paced as if caged. The big cat wore a golden harness decorated with bells and gems, and he ears were pieced and bejeweled. She was soon joined by another magnificent animal, a sleek black panther with similar decorations, and the two cats began the motions of a mock battle, set to the music. As they swiped and pawed at one another, the people at the tables surrounding the stage began to clap and shout encouragement. 

The music quickened to match the pace of the cats' movement. Both animals reared up on hind legs, front paws on each others' throats. Their bodies began to contract. Fur smoothed into bare skin on their limbs and bodies and lengthened into hair on their heads. Within seconds, the lion had become a tawny haired young woman wearing a complex garment made of gold chains and jewels. The panther was now a mahogany skinned woman with a silky sheath dress and a cloud of black curls. The two continued their dance. 

"Unregistered Animagi!" Kingsley muttered.

"Shocking, I know," a familiar voice replied. "You never do know what you'll find in this place. Whores, thieves, mercenaries, even the bloody Minister of Magic."

Kingsley spun to see that the man he sought had managed to creep up on him again, and now stood close enough for Kingsley to smell the firewhiskey on his breath. "Careful, watch what you say!" Kingsley admonished, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

Phillipe chuckled. "As if anyone could recognize you under all that." He gestured to Kingsley's magically-generated head of thick, tangled hair.

"You did," Kingsley replied, glaring. He cursed himself for not having taken the time to find a better disguise. At least with the music and the noise from all of the loud, drunken conversation, it was virtually impossible to hear someone's words without standing next to him. 

“Yes, well, I have a nose for gold,” Phillipe said. “I can smell people who owe me money.” 

Kingsley shook his head. “Not here. I won't be seen in public handing out purses.” 

“Then you came for the entertainment?” Phillipe jerked his chin toward the stage, where the black-haired woman danced with the bejeweled lioness. 

“I came because I have another job for you.” 

Phillipe's dark eyes narrowed as he studied Kingsley's face. "Why don't we talk some place a bit more private?" He led Shacklebolt to a booth away from the stage and the shouting patrons. They both sat down Phillipe hailed a pretty blond waitress, and ordered them both a firewhiskey. 

"I'm listening," Phillipe said as he crossed his arms behind his head. The young waitress came back and placed both drinks on the table in front of the two men. 

Kingsley forced himself to meet Phillipe's eyes. Once he spoke the name, there would be no going back; the deed would be as good as done. He thought of the half-dressed witch outside, the one he planned to have dragged back to Hogwarts for her own good. She had looked the same age as Draco Malfoy. “I do this with great regret,” Kingsley began. 

“And I wait with great boredom,” Phillipe interrupted. “I care nothing for your conscience, Minister. Tell me the bloody name!"

"Lucius Malfoy."

Phillipe's eyes widened for a moment, but whatever emotion had caught him off guard, he mastered it quickly. His face relaxed into its usual lazy smirk. "Moving onto bigger targets are we, Minister?" He placed his hand around the glass and slid closer to the table. "Is the fire beginning to be too much? Can't handle the pressure of being top cock, eh?" 

"You no good bastard!" Kingsley snarled as his own hand curled around his glass. "I do this for the greater good, not because I get a thrill out of killing, as you do."

"Maybe so, but at least I do not come to you asking for your help. What would your colleagues say if they knew you were making, shall we call them, business arrangements, with someone like me? I doubt they would appreciate knowing where their galleons are spent."

"I will triple your fee, Phillipe. But it must be done, my way."

"And, what specific way do you require him to meet his demise." 

"Cleanly. No mistakes, whatsoever. And, in public," Kingsley demanded.

"Publicly?" Phillipe asked, completely shocked. "My, my, Minister, you must be sending someone a strong message." 

"Kill Lucius, and our contract is over. I will never see you again once you are paid. You will never speak of me or our dealings, ever." 

"Done." Phillipe said as he slowly grinned at Kingsley. "Right, now, cheers,…partner!" Phillipe tapped Shacklebolt's firewhiskey glass with his own and gulped down the liquor. He rose from the table and disappeared as he walked away.

Kingsley sank into the nearest empty chair, weak with relief. He watched as the Animagi finished their routine and were replaced by a Metamorphmagus who transformed herself from one stunning form to the next. Kingsley envied the witch her talent; he wished desperately that he could slide into a different shape and disappear into a new life.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 13. A very enjoyable chapter and one I hope everyone relly does like.

Chapter 13: Someone I Can Trust

 

“Mother seems to understand,” Draco said softly, tracing his finger over the delicate feathers on Orion's chest. The bird stood on his windowsill, keeping him company as he watched the grounds below. “No, she more than understands! She seems to think it's bloody romantic, as if Potter and I will be strolling down Diagon Alley together, holding hands and picking out china patterns. As if we'll serve tea in our flat and invite Mother and Father... That will never happen!” 

 

He pounded his fist on the sill, startling Orion and eliciting a squawk of surprise. 

 

“Father would kill me if he even suspected I had this secret, these... ideas. Of course, he's hiding things from Mother and me as well, so he's no better!” Draco sneered. “Even if it weren't for Father, though, I don't want all that, not with bloody Potter! I hate everything about him.”

 

Orion tilted his head, blinked his dark, inscrutable eyes, opened his beak, and made a trilling noise that sounded skeptical to Draco.

 

Draco snorted and jerked his chin in grudging acknowledgment. “Alright-- not everything. I don't hate that he saved my life. But that doesn't mean I care for him! I just want to have him. Then it'll be out of my system. I can stop thinking all these sick thoughts. I'll marry some proper pureblood witch, have kids, let Mother watch them grow up while she grows old. It's what she always wanted, before I told her the truth. And it's better than the idea of me with Potter.” 

 

He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to imagine himself as the perfect husband and father. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put faces on the characters in his fantasy, and when he tried to imagine himself holding someone's hand, that someone always turned into Potter. The image made his stomach turn, of course-- how could it not?-- but it also put a hollow feeling in his chest, and that was worse. 

 

He stroked the bird's feathered head. “Sometimes, Orion, I envy you. You’re able to fly away from trouble. You have the ability to soar through the air and go wherever the wind takes you. There is a part of me that wants to just take him and disappear forever. It wouldn't be so bad then. He wouldn't be the Chosen One or a bloody Griffindor.” 

 

The eagle trilled and nudged Draco’s finger, wanting more affection from the young Slytherin. 

 

“If it were just him and me,” Draco muttered, “if I didn't have to hear about how bloody important he is all the time, if he didn't have everyone else wanting things from him, then I think we could... I think I could... stand him.” 

 

In the grounds below the wrought-iron gates swung open with a loud creak, startling Draco. He let his hand fall away from Orion and leaned over the sill, watching as Lucius Malfoy hurriedly walked past the gates and up the path leading into Malfoy Manor. “Just brilliant,” Draco said dejectedly, “let’s see what rubbish news Father has to give to us now.”

 

Moments later, Kraven appeared before Draco. “Master Draco,” the house elf said, “Master Malfoy…”

 

“Yes, Kraven I know already! You don’t have to tell me! Father wants me to come downstairs!” 

 

“Yes, Master Draco, Master Malfoy says that it is most urgent,” the house elf said before disappearing. 

 

“Yeah, like everything with Father is urgent and important,” Draco said bitterly. He rubbed at the knuckles of his left hand, remembering the sting of the silver cane. “Orion, you had better go back to the owlery. I have to go and see what Father wants.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

 

Lucius Malfoy sat at the large table with the half-full bottle of firewhiskey in front of him. He thought back to one short year ago when he had sat at this same table, only then many other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord had been sitting at the table as well. He remembered Voldemort taking his wand, and how they had plotted to kill Potter while the boy was being transported from the Muggles' home. 

 

“Potter!” Lucius scoffed. He had already drunk so much that his thoughts had become soft and slippery; speaking them aloud was the only way to solidify them in his mind. “That damned boy has ruined everything for me.” 

 

Lucius filled the glass with the liquor and gulped the liquid down with one swift motion. “All in due time, Mr. Potter. The delight of a hunt is not the kill, but the chase. My plans will succeed and then he will be dead, just like Voldemort.” 

 

Firewhiskey filled the glass again, and Lucius raised it to his lips before a low chuckle begin to emanate from him. The chuckle grew louder until it became a laugh. Lucius looked at the glass and downed the second helping of alcohol, being careful not to choke while still laughing to himself. 

 

“Voldemort! That’s what his name was. I can say it now without any repercussions.” The laughter began to subside as Lucius set the glass down on the table and began to fill it for a third time. “Tom. Marvolo. Riddle,” Lucius said as he filled the glass full. “Here’s to you, Tom! The fear of the name is no more.” 

 

The shuffling of footsteps from the hallway brought Lucius’ attention to the doorway leading into the room. Narcissa and Draco appeared moments later, just in time to watch Lucius empty the bottle of firewhiskey into the glass. 

 

“Ah, Narcissa my beautiful wife, and Draco my handsome son, come in and sit with me. I am having a toast before settling down to business,” Lucius said as he waved the glass in front of them. He watched them both walk into the room and sit down across the table from him.

 

“Lucius, how many drinks have you had tonight?” Narcissa asked, frowning and somehow managing to look down at him despite her short stature.

 

“Enough. I have had enough to satisfy me,” Lucius said as he gulped down the last bit of firewhiskey in the glass. “Now,” he began as he pushed the empty glass away from him, “I received a letter from the Minister asking to speak to me at once. His letter interrupted a very important conversation that Draco and I were having, isn’t that correct, son?” Lucius raised his eyebrow as he eyed Draco, daring him to say more.

 

“Yes, Father.” Draco replied, staring down at his own folded hands. His left hand twitched, contracting into a fist, and he quickly covered it with his right.

 

Lucius turned back to Narcissa and began once more. “There now, the boy speaks the truth. You see, my dear, Draco and I were having a gentlemanly discussion. It was...positively collegial, was it not, Draco?” Lucius searched around his chair and table. “Kraven, bring another bottle of firewhiskey!”

 

Draco glanced down at the bruise that had formed on his hand from Lucius’ cane. His lip curled, and this time, he looked up from the table and met Lucius’ eyes. Before Draco could speak, Lucius felt two soft hands forcefully take his own diverting his attention away from his son’s insolent face. “Lucius look at me!” Narcissa pleaded. “I know Draco speaks the truth, now what did the Minister want?” 

 

A second bottle of firewhiskey appeared along with a clean glass in front of Lucius. “Ah, yes, there it is,” Lucius said as he snatched his hands away from Narcissa and began to pour another glass of the brew. He drank until the glass was empty, ignoring the protests from his stomach. Some remnants of his rational mind were still at work, listing all of the ways in which he and his family were thoroughly ruined. Silencing the voice of reason was worth drinking himself sick. “The Minister, my dear, is a sodding fool. He thinks that he can intimidate me, Lucius Malfoy! Well, I will show him just what kind of a person he is dealing with.” A slight hiccup escaped from him as he finished his words.

 

“Lucius, for Merlin’s sake, you are drunk!” Narcissa said angrily and got up from her chair. Lucius watched as she got to the doorway before he continued.

 

“Cissy! You’d better come and sit down, and you had better listen to my instructions, or else it’s off to Azkaban with you!” 

 

“What did you say? Explain youself, Lucius!”

 

Lucius could feel the laughter begin inside of him again as he tried to focus through the effects of the alcohol. “Apparently, the Ministry will not offer us protection as I once had thought. Now that they have what they need from me, they plan to throw me under the carriage. Shacklebolt is only concerned about the Ministry’s public appearance.” Lucius swallowed another half a glass of the firewhiskey before continuing. “Governments may change, but the lies they speak forever remain the same, Draco,” Lucius added, pointing his index finger at his son while holding the empty glass, “it will do you a lot of good, son, to remember that adage.”

 

He turned to see that Narcissa had covered her mouth in shock while Draco continued to look lifelessly at the table. He arched his eyebrow and poured another drink. “In a fortnight, the Wizengamot will force us to stand trial,” Lucius said before taking another long drink. The firewhiskey was beginning to taste vile to him after so many glasses-- sour and bitter all at once.

 

“Trial?” 

 

Lucius turned, as he had expected Narcissa to say this, but instead it had come from Draco. “Yes, son, a trial. They plan to make an example out of us, a spectacle for the Wizarding World. Once that is over, will be sent to Azkaban because of our associations with Voldemort and because you tried to kill Albus Dumbledore.” 

 

Lucius heard his wife inhale sharply, and he turned to look at her. “Lucius, are you mad? You said his name!”

 

“Yes, I have found it comforting to be able to say a dead man’s name. It’s not forbidden anymore, Narcissa.”

 

Lucius gently leaned his chair back, confident now, with the alcohol coursing through his blood and racing through his mind. “I will not let our name be smeared in vain. On my way home tonight I stopped by Knockturn Alley and visited with a few ‘old friends’. I do have a plan in place for the Ministry and Shacklebolt’s every move.” 

 

“Lucius, stop it!” Narcissa begged, her eyes wide. “It’s because of your plans that we are in this position!” 

 

“I do not feel like arguing with you tonight, Narcissa. Spend your energies composing your statements for the trial,” Lucius said as he waved a drunken hand at his wife.

 

“I will do just that.” Narcissa stood and crossed the room. In the doorway, she paused to look over her shoulder. “At the trial, I will tell the truth, Lucius. About everything.”

 

She left the room as Lucius patted his wand, thinking satisfying thoughts about the pain he could inflict. Her departure was a perfect setting for what Lucius wanted to do next. 

 

“Father?” Lucius looked back at his son, who met his eyes with an impressive, if surprising, aplomb. 

 

“Draco. Do you have the answers that I am expecting from you regarding our little conversation?” Lucius asked as he leaned back in his chair. 

 

Lucius could see the courage draining from Draco’s face. “Father, I still…have no answers yet from Potter. He still has not replied to me.” 

 

Lucius banged his fist upon the table, completely frustrated by Draco’s failure. “You ungrateful bastard of a son!” he said, as he threw the bottle of firewhiskey at Draco. 

 

Draco ducked as the bottle whizzed by his head, narrowly missing him. “What the bloody hell do you want me to do, Father? Go to Potter’s house and drag him back here so you can get whatever it is you want from him yourself?” 

 

Lucius gritted his teeth, while his hands tightened on the edge of the table. “Enough! If you will not do the task that I need for you to do, then--“

 

“That’s it, Father! I have had enough!” Draco shouted as he threw his hands up into the air. “I agree with Mother, you are nothing but a drunken old fool, and I am not going to play your games for you anymore. If you want to befriend Harry, fucking Potter…then go and do it yourself!” 

 

Lucius watched as Draco walked around the table and stood looming over him. “Let me tell you something, Father! I will not allow them to send me or mother to Azkaban,” Lucius could see the cold fire burning in Draco’s eyes. “And I will not let you destroy our family name.” Lucius felt Draco point his finger into Lucius’s chest as he continued with his rant. “I will deal with Harry Potter, Father, but it will be in my own way, not yours. As for you, you can go to Azkaban and let the dementors suck out any soul that you may have left!”

 

The small, rational part of his mind that was still working was impressed by Draco’s anger. However, at that moment Lucius knew that his son had crossed the line.

 

Lucius felt a smile spread across his face, as he gazed down at his chest, where Draco’s finger had been a few moments ago. “Ah, I see that there is some Slythein within you after all. I also see you have not yet learned your lesson. Very well then; I will not be merciful this time.”

 

Everything happened in slow motion for Lucius. He witnessed Draco point his wand at him and then a bright, blue light hit Lucius directly in his chest. The force of this propelled him backwards until his head viciously met something that was hard and solid. 

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Draco stood over Lucius, breathing heavily as Narcissa came running back into the room. 

 

“Draco! What happened?” 

 

Draco stared at the unconscious body that rested against the wall. “Father was going to curse me, so I stunned him.” 

 

Draco watched as Narcissa walked over to her husband and felt for his pulse. “Mother, please, I stunned him, I didn’t kill him!” Draco said irritably as he watched Narcissa nurse Lucius. 

 

“Still the same, Draco. I do not think it would be wise for you to be here when Lucius finally awakens from this and his hangover. You must go and stay elsewhere until the trial.” 

 

“Mother! Just where am I going to go and stay?” 

 

“I think you know where you need to go.” Narcissa gave him a level look.

 

“You can’t mean…” Draco protested, feeling his face heat with shame, anger, and a host of other emotions he didn’t want to define.

 

“I’ll tell your father that you grudgingly went to do as he asked, to find Harry Potter and make him amenable to his plan. If he believes you are obeying his request, he will be quicker to forgive you. If we are fortunate, he will not remember what has just happened between the both of you.”

 

“I am not going to go and sleep in at Potter’s, Mother!” Draco growled. “He won’t exactly welcome me! He has no reason to trust me--he bloody hates me!”

 

“Don’t be a fool, Draco, it is the safest place from your Father. Harry saved your life once. He will be doing so again. He is someone you can trust.”

 

“But, Mother, I--“

 

“Do not argue with me about this Draco, just pack some clothes and go! You have some time to think about what you will say to Potter, as Lucius will not be awake anytime soon.”

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Arthur Weasley's workshop was a small, garage-like building on the exterior, but inside the shop, magical enhancements made it a large, spacious area that easily housed all of his Muggle devices and the Ford Anglia. He even had a long workbench, which at this moment was occupied by a boxy device with a smooth, shiny front panel. If working correctly, the panel would display moving pictures. Now, the only image Arthur could see on it was his own face, frowning back at him in concentration. He studied the Muggle device-- a television set, its owner had called it-- very carefully, trying to reason through the problem in his mind. 

 

"Hmm. I wonder if that could be it," he said as he scratched the back of his head with the Muggle screwdriver and turned the device around. Before he could answer his own question, a knock came from the front door of the workshop.

 

"I'm back here. Come on in," Arthur said as he continued to study the back of the television set. 

 

Arthur turned his attention away from the television set and saw Ron walking around the Ford Anglia in the back room of the workshop.

 

"Wow, Dad you managed to find the car!" Ron said as he walked around the table to where his father was working.

 

"Yes, it took me a while to find it and to retame it, but with a bit of magic it's as good as new again," Arthur said, beaming at the car. "Just don’t tell your mother about it. She would scream if she knew I still have the thing." 

 

Ron laughed a bit. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. So you wanted to see me?" 

 

"Yes, I thought you might want to see this Muggle television set work. I've been working on it for quite a while now. I think I've almost got it fixed!" With a twist of the screwdriver, Arthur succeeded in refastening the cover onto the back panel. 

 

Ron grinned at his father. "Dad, why don't you just use magic? You could save yourself a lot of time."

 

Arthur looked up from his work and smiled at Ron. "Ronald, what could I possibly hope to learn if I did it that way? Besides, what fun would it be?" Arthur stood up and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Besides, the Muggle lady that gave this to me said that it hadn't worked in years, not since her husband had passed." 

 

Arthur walked around the front of the table and turned the "power" knob to the set. "Yes, poor old lady," Arthur continued as he walked back around to the back of the television set. "Apparently some wizards still get a laugh from playing pranks on helpless Muggles. She had been sold a cuckoo clock that was broken. Well, not entirely broken. You see every hour it would chime correctly, as it should. The ‘cuckoo bird’ was a miniature Hungarian horntail dragon that would expel fire on every chime."

 

Ron snorted with laughter, and Arthur looked up from his work to admonish his son. "It's not a laughing matter, Ronald Billius. That poor woman could have been killed."

 

"Yeah, but Dad, you have to admit that was a good idea. I mean replacing a cuckoo bird with a miniature horntail…. It's the kind of thing Fred and George would have thought up."

 

“That it is,” Arthur agreed. For a moment, he paused in his work and studied Ron's face. The silence ceased being reverent and started to become awkward. Arthur shook his head sadly before continuing on with his thoughts about the Muggle lady, and the dragon clock. "As I said, the poor woman could have been killed, so don't let this idea go to your brain as a new invention for the joke shop," Arthur said as he waved the screwdriver at Ron. "As a token of her gratitude toward my team, after we had secured the dragon, she gave me this small television set. She said it was her late husband's, but she had no use for it anymore." Arthur put the cover on the back of the television set. "There now, it should work." 

 

Arthur turned the knob once again, and this time the old television set came to life with static and crackling before finally receiving the signal.   
The screen was still fuzzy, but a voice came through the set. The voice was rapidly reading off a list of names, and saying such words and phrases as "goals," "penalty kick," "off-sides," and "Manchester United." 

 

"I know how to fix this," Arthur said. He slammed his hand against the side of the set. The reception cleared, and both wizards stood before the television, set watching a game of Muggle soccer.

 

Ron leaned forward, watching the small screen with great interest.  
"Bloody hell, Dad! It looks like Quidditch, in a way." 

 

Arthur clapped his hand around Ron's broad shoulder. "Ron, didn't you learn anything from your Muggle Studies class? This is what the Muggles call football. Another term for the sport is soccer. Yes, it is a tiny bit similar to Quidditch."

 

"There is only one goal to defend, and where is the Snitch? No bludgers? Bloody hell, they're not even on broomsticks! They're running around kicking this black and white ball. Where's the fun in that?" Ron complained. "They copied us, or at least tried to copy Quidditch."

 

Arthur laughed as he turned off the television set. "Yes, Ron, they did try to copy Quidditch, unsuccessfully, I might add, but, you have to admire Muggles, they did try."

 

Arthur motioned for Ron to sit down at the small table as he sat down beside him. "Now, Ron, this device wasn't the only reason why I asked to speak to you. It's about Harry." Arthur clasped his hands together and met Ron's eyes across the table. "I don't want to pry into Harry's business, but I fear that we may be losing him. His isolation seems to be tearing him away from us." Arthur stopped for a moment as Ron stared keenly at him.

 

"Yeah, Dad, I have thought the same since he and Ginny had their row," Ron said. "I just didn't know what to do about it." 

 

"I'm not sure that I do either,” Arthur admitted. “Your mother and I love Harry like a son, and we had hoped...” He shrugged. “It doesn't matter now. Ginny says she would rather kiss a crup than reconcile with Harry.” 

 

Ron nodded, looking down at the table and fidgeting. "Dad, can I tell you something?" 

 

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly at this question. "Of course, son."

 

He saw Ron stare at his own hands, the concentration etched across his face. "Dad, I never was happy with Harry dating Ginny. I managed to accept it, but there were so many times when I wanted to hex Harry for snogging my little sister. It's almost like I knew how it would end."

 

Arthur studied Ron, whose face had now gone to a deep red as his anger toward Harry was more evident. "I know, Ronald, it was at first difficult for your mother and I, too. However, we talked at great lengths about it and decided to allow the two of them to find their own way with one another. We knew the possibility of them breaking up was there, but also we also hoped he might become a part of the family."

 

"Yeah," Ron muttered half-heartedly. “That's not going to happen now, though. From what Ginny said, she gave Harry a right, good smack for what he said to her. In a way, Dad, I am glad she did it so I wouldn't have to."

 

"As difficult as that was for her, Ronald, we cannot allow Harry to just wander off, and be led astray. He could fall in with the wrong people and fail to reach his potential. Dumbledore would not have wanted that, and in spite of what happened with Ginny, we don't want anything bad to happen to Harry either." 

 

Ron shuffled his feet and kicked up a small plume of dust. "I suppose you are right, Dad, even if I feel he is a slimy git at times for it all. Don't get me wrong, he is still my best friend, but you saw how he was when he visited. He's changed, Dad. He's changed a lot." 

 

"Growing older and going through experiences will do that to you, Ron. Look at yourself. Do you think that just a few years ago that you and I would be having this type of a conversation?"

 

Arthur saw Ron look bewildered as he tried to answer but all he could reply with was a shrug. Arthur chuckled to himself and smiled at his youngest son. "Ron, I would like for you to go and see Harry, today while your sister and mother are gone. Explain to him that we still care for him very much. Even with everything that has happened between him and Ginny, we still want to be a part of his life. He does not have to stay there alone at Grimmauld Place; he can come and stay here. Personally, I think it would do us all a lot of good to sit down and get everything off our chests and then move on from there."

 

"But, Dad, I…I'm no good at this rubbish! Why can't I send Hermione? She loves telling people what to do and how to feel!" 

 

Arthur grimaced. "No, Ronald. I want you to go now, and do as I asked." 

 

"Yes, sir,” Ron mumbled, sighing and letting his shoulders slump. 

 

Arthur watched as Ron left the workshop. He could only hope that Ron could somehow find a way through to Harry, in order to help him see through this darkness that had seemed to envelop them all.

 

"Molly, I hope your idea works, dear," Arthur said as he turned the television set back on and continued to watch the football game.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Green flames erupted from the fireplace inside 12 Grimmauld Place as Ron Weasley stepped out of the hearth. Coughing, he brushed the ash from his traveling cloak as he looked around the kitchen. 

 

"Master Harry has a visitor," Kreacher's voice came from beside the fireplace. "Oh, it is the Weasley boy." 

 

"Kreacher, where is Harry?" Ron asked. 

 

"The Weasley boy speaks to Kreacher. The Weasley boy is not Kreacher's master. Kreacher will not answer." The house elf folded his little arms and turned his back to Ron.

 

"Look, you bloody elf, I am not in the mood for your little games!" Ron grabbed the tattered shirt that loosely covered Kreacher's body and twisted it tightly around the house elf's neck, partially strangling him. "One more time, where is Harry?"

 

"Ron!" 

 

Startled by the sound of his name, Ron turned around to see Harry pointing his wand directly at him. "Put him down, Ron, now."

 

"Blimey, Harry, I wasn't going to kill him! I was just asking him where you were!" Ron started as he loosened the grip around Kreacher's neck. The house elf yanked himself free from Ron's fading grip, and started shouting a long list of obscenities.

 

"Kreacher, that's enough!" Harry shouted. "Just go to your room, alright?" With one last dirty look at Ron, the house elf obeyed Harry and left the two Gryffindors standing alone in the room. Harry lowered his wand and shook his head at Ron.

 

"I knew you never cared for Kreacher much, but I never thought you would go and choke him. Just think what Hermione would say to you if she ever found out that you treated a house elf like that." 

 

Ron scratched at the back of his neck, ashamed. He could practically hear Hermione going on about house elf rights. "Look, Harry, I am sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to know where you were."

 

"Well, I am here, and very much surprised that you are standing here as well," Harry stated as he showed Ron to the table. "Would you care for some tea?"

 

"Yeah, that would be great, especially after flooing here. My throat could use something to wash that ash down." 

 

"Kreacher, tea for two, please," Harry called.

 

Kreacher came out of his room grumbling under his breath. "Master always wanting Kreacher to do something. Kreacher should poison the Weasleys boy's tea after what he's done to Kreacher. Traitorous, mud-blood lover he is."

 

"Kreacher, that's enough of that!" Harry scolded the house elf. "Now, please, the tea."

 

Harry turned back to face Ron across the table. In the dim light, he looked even paler than he had when he had visited the Burrow. The shadows under his eyes and the hollows beneath his cheek bones had deepened, and his hair had grown so that it covered his scar and hung over his eyebrows. He wore one of Mrs. Weasley's beastly, ill-fitting sweaters and a pair of strange Muggle pants. Hermione would probably have lectured him about taking care of himself, but something in Harry's eyes told Ron he had better not say anything regarding Harry's appearance. He stayed silent, smiling in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion and leaning forward with his elbows on the table. 

 

"Well, I can't say that I am shocked that someone from the Burrow is here," Harry said. "I just never thought it would be you. I assumed it might be Mrs. Weasley perhaps, or Mr. Weasley, possibly even Hermione, but not you." 

 

"You might say I got talked into it, Harry. I'll leave if you don't want me here. After your row with Ginny, I can imagine you might not--"

 

"Ron, please stop going on, alright? I had a fight with Ginny, not you. You don't have to leave."

 

Kreacher came out with the tea and placed it upon the table in front of Harry. "Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all. You can go and sulk in your own room, now." 

 

The house elf bowed to Harry and quickly walked to his small room across the kitchen.

 

After pushing back the cuffs of his sweater, Harry poured each of them a cup of tea and sat back in his chair, his fingers curled around a mug. He looked in Ron's general direction, but seemed to see through him, and he gave no indication that he planned to speak.

 

Ron took a sip of tea and placed the cup down on the saucer. “Dad asked me to come here.” 

 

Harry only nodded acknowledgment.

 

“He's worried about you,” Ron continued. “You're scaring him, to be honest. You're scaring all of us with this hermit rubbish. Harry, look, you're my best friend, and I don't want any secrets between us. Bloody hell, mate, look at what all of this is causing! You can't honestly say that you have been yourself lately."

 

Harry took a drink of his own tea and stared across the table at Ron. "No, Ron, I haven't. I suppose part of that is because of what happened back at Hogwarts. Killing someone that has been trying to kill you for eighteen years does take its toll on you." He took another drink of tea before continuing. "Look, I am sorry if I have not been the same. I thought being away from you all would help me get myself back together."

 

"Well, yeah, Harry, I would guess killing the darkest wizard that we ever knew would do that to you, but doesn't it also give you a bit of peace knowing that it is all over? What about being a hero? Doesn't that mean anything to you? Bloody hell, Harry, you saved everyone!"

 

Harry's free hand clenched into a fist, and the hand holding the teacup shook, spilling some of the dark liquid onto the table. “Yeah, I saved everyone. That's why I don't want to be around anyone. I don't want a hero's worship, I just want to be able to get on with a normal life."

 

"Sorry." Ron fumbled with his spoon and placed the tea down on the table.

 

"So, why did you come here today? You mentioned that you were talked into it," Harry asked as he eyed Ron over the rim of his cup.

 

"Dad suggested that I come here and tell you that we don't hold anything against you, not even what happened between you and Ginny. We want you to come visit us instead of staying here all of the time." 

 

Harry grinned a little bit at the mention of Ginny. His hand traced his jawbone where Ginny had hit him. "Yeah, I was lucky, wasn't I? She could have hit me with her Bat-Bogey Hex." Harry began to laugh, and Ron joined him. A few moments passed as their laughter echoed throughout the room. Slowly the laughs subsided and Ron hesitated before asking his next question.

 

"Harry?"

 

"Yeah, Ron?"

 

"Mate, I'm really sorry about Hermione's howler. I tried to tell her not to send it. You know Hermione; once she gets an idea into her head, she is stuck on it. I hope you aren't mad at her for sending it." 

 

"No, it's ok. Yeah, it was a bit surprising, but it's no big deal, Ron," Harry said as he waved the thought by. "Actually, Ginny did me a favor that day."

 

"Oh, what's that, Harry?"

 

Harry looked across the table at Ron and sighed. "It's complicated, Ron, and you wouldn't understand." 

 

"Oh, yeah? Hermione says that to me all the time. Try me, Harry. You might just be surprised."

 

Harry stared into his teacup for a moment, scowling. When he looked up at Ron, he shrugged and flashed an unhealthy little half-smile. "All right, but don't say that I didn't warn you." 

 

He took a deep breath before he continued. Ron sat straight in his chair, anxious to hear Harry's revelation.

 

"You might want to cover your ears," Harry warned.

 

"Bloody hell Harry, just say it. It can't be that bad, can it?" 

 

“Alright. Well, when I broke it off with Ginny, it was because I do have feelings for someone else. As it turns out, she preferred to hit me instead of waiting to find out who it was.”

 

Ron nodded slowly, digesting the news. “Is it Cho, then?” he asked. 

 

Harry shook his head, put his cup down and looked directly at Ron. “It's Draco Malfoy.” 

 

“Malfoy?” Ron repeated, confused. “What did he do now? And what does it have to do with you and Ginny?” 

 

“It's Draco Malfoy,” Harry repeated, speaking slowly as if to an imbecile. 

 

“Yeah, you said that already but...Oh.” Ron put down his teacup, not trusting himself with any fragile objects. His head spun and began to fill with images he wanted to dislodge as soon as he imagined them. “You... You're... You and... Bloody hell, Harry! You, and Draco Malfoy? How long has this been going on?” 

 

“It hasn't been,” Harry whispered, looking suddenly miserable. “He doesn't know. You're the first I've told, Ron.” 

 

“I knew it!” Ron blurted. “Well, not exactly, but I always knew there was something off about you and Ginny. You and Cho, too, come to think of it. It makes sense now.”

 

Harry visibly relaxed, and a relieved smile spread across his face. "What? You mean you aren't angry or going to say how ridiculous it is for me to like another bloke?"

 

Ron shrugged. “I'd rather you be an uphill gardener than have you snogging my little sister. I will admit, Harry, that it is sick and twisted in one way, but on the other hand I sort of expected it."

 

Harry began to question how, but Ron stopped him from asking his question. "I mean the way you would look over at him in class, even though you two hate each other. Maybe that's why I was surprised when you started dating Ginny. "

 

"So you are alright with me being gay?" Harry asked.

 

Ron laughed as he got up from the table and walked around to Harry. He clapped a large hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Harry, mate did you ever pay attention to anything?" 

 

"What?"

 

"Don't you remember Dumbledore? Grindelwald? What Aberforth told us about the two of them? Yeah, alright he didn't say that they both snogged one another, but still, connect the dots and you get the picture. They were more than just friends, Harry." 

 

“I never knew,” Harry muttered. “Another one of the things he kept hidden from me, I suppose. Do you think he was ashamed of it?” 

 

"Yeah, maybe,” Ron replied a moment before deciding that he had given the wrong answer. “Not that he had any reason to be!” Ron continued quickly. Just about every wizarding family has had a witch or a wizard that has been gay, mate. It's pretty common, even though it isn't mentioned much. You just have to know where to look and what to look for. Even a number of pureblood families have their share of 'secret romances'.” When Harry failed to look convinced, he sighed. “Look, I don't care, Harry, anymore than I care about Hermione being Muggle-born.”

 

"Thanks for that," Harry mumbled.

 

Ron made his way over to the fireplace, and reached out for a handful of floo powder. "Let me go home and smooth everything over with Mum and Dad. They will understand even more now, that is if you will let me tell them. If not, then I will say that you didn't want to talk." 

 

"Alright, Ron. I trust you to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about this, but let me tell it to Hermione and Ginny, ok?"

 

"Fair enough, Harry,” Ron agreed. He palmed a handful of floo powder but stopped himself before tossing it into the fireplace. “One more thing I have to know, or it will bloody drive me crazy! Why Malfoy, for the love of Merlin? Why not Seamus, or Neville or, well, anyone but Malfoy?”

 

“I don't know.” Harry frowned, and that odd unfocused look came over him again. “I suppose it's because he's never looked at me and seen the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived. He's someone I can trust not to call me a hero.” 

 

“That's because he's a bloody git, Harry!” Ron growled, shaking his head in puzzlement. He wondered what Hermione would make of Harry's confession when she finally heard it. She would probably have a lot of big words to say about it, but in the end it would all boil down to Draco being a git and Harry being mad for thinking otherwise.

 

Suddenly, something occurred to Ron that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. “Harry, you don't think you're cursed, do you? Like, with a love spell? Maybe Malfoy cast something on you.”

 

Harry laughed. “I wish he had! That would at least mean he's interested in me.” 

 

Resigned to his lack of understanding, Ron sighed, tossed the floo powder, and spun out of sight. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

Harry walked upstairs to his bedroom and laid down on the bed, contemplating his decision about telling Ron his secret. His mind quickly went back to the thought of Dumbledore. Harry had never thought of Dumbledore in that manner. Could that have been why Dumbledore always seemed to take a special interest in Harry, other than because of his connection to Voldemort? Had Dumbledore sensed that Harry was gay? It would have been good to talk to him, to ask him what it had been like when he was Harry’s age and how he had approached Grindelwald.

 

What would happen next? How would things be now that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would know that he fancied Draco Malfoy? He wondered if they would react the same way as Ron had, if they would take him to Saint Mungo's to have him checked for whatever potion, charm, or curse was causing him to obsess on Draco. 

 

“Ron was right, in a way,” Harry muttered. “Love is a curse.”

 

A soft knock at the door distracted Harry from his thoughts as Kreacher came into the room. "Master Harry has a visitor."

 

"What, Kreacher? Ron just left."

 

"Kreacher knows the Weasley boy just left, but Master Harry has another visitor waiting for him." The house-elf practically sang the words, and he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. Whoever had come to the door, it must be someone Kreacher thought worthy to visit Harry.

 

"Who is it, Kreacher?" 

 

“It is a most noble pureblood wizard,” Kreacher intoned, thrusting out his little chest. “Kreacher will be proud to serve Master Harry's high-born guest. Does Master Harry wish for Kreacher to cook? Kreacher will prepare a feast! Which room should Kreacher make ready for the honored wizard? Kreacher must know where to put the noble wizard's suitcase!” 

 

Harry found himself sympathizing with Ron's attempt to strangle the house-elf, but instead he forced himself to take a deep, slow breath. “Kreacher! Before I can answer any of that, I need to know who it is.” 

 

Kreacher's grin broadened at the mere prospect of saying the unknown wizard's name, and he clasped his gnarled hands in front of his chest as if about to mutter a prayer. “Master Harry, our guest is the august Slytherin-- Draco Malfoy.”


	14. To Fix A Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that I know many people have been waiting to read. Harry and Draco's first encounter in person, so I hope that everyone enjoys reading this chapter. As always please do feel free to leave me a comment or an e-mail about the chapter or the story...all feedback is most useful.

Chapter 14: To Fix A Mistake

 

"Draco? He's here, Kreacher?" 

 

"Perhaps Master Harry's hearing is damaged? Yes, Kreacher is proud to tell Master that the noble son of the Black and Malfoy families is standing in Master Harry's home," Kreacher replied, as he continued to rock to and fro on his feet in eager anticipation of serving Draco Malfoy. Seeing the house elf do this reminded Harry of Cornelius Fudge and brought back many difficult memories.

 

"Kreacher, stop that!" Harry demanded. "Show Draco, I mean, show Malfoy to the library. I will meet him there shortly."

 

The house elf bowed. and with a twist, he apparated out of the room. Harry sat there on his bed, puzzled as to why Draco Malfoy would come to his house. He tried to think back to his own response to Draco’s letter, but all that Harry could see in his mind was the fact that Draco Malfoy now stood within the confines of #12 Grimmauld Place, Harry's home. 

 

Harry looked furiously for his comb. He opened every drawer at least twice and rummaged through the closet before finding the comb under the bed. He had no idea how it had found its way there, which was not surprising, considering that he couldn't recall the last time he had used it. He dusted the comb on the front of his sweater, stood in front of the mirror, and hastily raked at his hair. When he had forced it into some semblance of order, he yanked off Mrs. Weasley's sweater and tossed it onto the bed. He had one of his old tee shirts under it as well as a pair of faded blue jeans. For a moment, he considered pulling on a robe to make himself look like a proper wizard.

 

“No,” he said to his own reflection. “Bad enough Kreacher's treating him like royalty. I'm not going to show him he's put me on edge.” 

 

But Draco had, in fact, surprised Harry. Why is he here? Harry wondered, pacing back and forth between the bed and the window. Based on Draco's letter, he could think of no logical reason for his former enemy to visit. Could it be that something in Harry's reply had caught Draco's attention?

 

"My reply," Harry said as he gazed at himself in the mirror. "Of course. I thanked him for taking me into his confidence, and for warning me about Lucius, but also I said that I believed his words, and hoped to one day make amends for everything that has happened between us in the past. I wanted to try to make things right, if Draco would allow that to happen."

 

His mouth went dry, and he felt his palms beginning to itch with sweat. "And now he is here because of that, hopefully. Still, I wonder what it is he wants?” Harry looked into the mirror at his own reflection, wishing that it could give him the answer to his questions. Deciding that he had delayed Draco for long enough, he tucked his wand into his front pocket and proceeded toward the library. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------

"Master Harry shan't be long, Master Malfoy, sir," the wrinkled little elf whined apologetically. He rubbed his small hands together and looked up at Draco the same way Kraven always eyed Draco's father. The fawning adoration was only proper, of course, but it still made Draco strangely uncomfortable. 

 

"How long will he be?" Draco demanded. "I didn't come here to be kept waiting all night!" His patience had begun to wear thin, as he had been in the library now for at least twenty minutes. He had helped himself to a chair and had set his suitcase on a small reading table, and he now found himself fidgeting in frustration. With his right hand, he probed the bruises on his left, morbidly fascinated with the contrast between dull and sharp pain.

 

“Kreacher does not know, Master Malfoy.” The elf's ears drooped, and his long nose twitched with distress. 

 

"Bloody Saint Potter, he always has to make an entrance for himself. I never should have listened to Mother. I should have gone somewhere better, anywhere but here! What was I thinking, listening to her?" 

The house elf made a low groaning sound. “Kreacher could go to fetch Master Harry for Master Malfoy...” 

 

“Yes, go make yourself useful.” Draco waved a hand to dismiss the house elf, who then vanished, leaving him alone with the Black family books. 

 

He stood up from the chair and walked in a slow circle around the room. The first thing that caught the Slytherin's attention was the Black family tree on the wall. Draco briefly examined it before eyeing the book shelves behind the desk. "I wonder what books Potter likes to read?" Draco muttered to himself as he walked behind the desk and began looking through the rows of books that lined the shelves. The shelves contained books about the Black family, but these did not interest Draco, and apparently they had not caught Harry’s eye either; most of them were covered in a thick layer of dust. He turned and began to rifle through the stacks of books that were on the desk. 

 

"Hmm, interesting. He's fascinated by Dark Magic." 

 

"Yes, you might say I do have a personal interest in the subject," Harry's voice came from behind Draco. Momentarily startled, Draco spun around. His elbow collided with a stack of books, causing it to lean and sway precariously. 

 

Harry grinned as he watched Draco attempt to steady the stack, and he laughed out loud when the books went crashing to the floor.  
"It seems that you are not so perfect after all," Harry said. "Just think what some of the other Slytherins would think if they saw what just happened. Clumsy, Draco Malfoy, can’t even walk around a library without knocking over a stack of books."

 

"Shut it, Potter! Or I will shove one of these books into that big mouth of yours!" Draco shouted as he tried to regain his composure. "Only an idiot stacks books that high-- I barely touched them, and look what happened!" 

 

Unwilling to admit Draco's obvious point, Harry waved a hand and flashed a patronizing smile that made Draco want to curse him. “Don't worry about the books, Malfoy. Kraven will pick them up later.” 

 

“No, I'll do it,” Draco said quickly. He wanted something to do with his hands, and some excuse to look away from Potter. The Gryffindor was wearing obscene Muggle pants that hung low on his hips and a short-sleeved shirt that might have fit him properly five years ago. Draco could see every contour of Potter's scrawny torso, and the effect was unsettling.

 

Draco knelt and began collecting the books and placing them back on the desk in a series of short stacks. Several of the titles caused him to raise an eyebrow. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and The Dark Arts Outsmarted both caught his attention. He held the latter volume up and waved it at Potter. “What are you reading this for? I thought you were the all-knowing expert on saving the world from dark wizards.”

 

“You know better than that,” Harry scoffed. “I've been lucky, mostly, and I've had help, but I can't always count on luck or on other people. Take a seat, Malfoy," Harry extended his hand toward the chair in front of the desk. "I think we have a few things to discuss. Most importantly, why you are here in my home?"

 

Leaving the books, Draco sat down in the chair. Harry perched on the edge of the desk and twisted so that he faced Draco, leaning on the heel of one hand. 

 

Draco looked away, preferring the sight of the books on the floor to that of Potter staring down at him. "Honestly, Potter, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

 

"Oh, really? So is everything that you wrote in your letter a lie? Because if I can't trust you to tell me the truth now, then I cannot trust what you wrote." 

 

Draco snorted and shook his head. He looked up at Harry before looking away, choosing instead to focus on the bruise on his left hand. "It's complicated, Potter, and I wouldn't want you to overwork your brain while trying to figure it out."

 

Harry crossed his arms and let out a sigh that sounded more like a hiss. His eyes narrowed as he studied Draco’s face. "So what do you call this? A social call? What, did you just want to drop by and see how 'The Chosen One' is getting along now?" 

 

Draco began to mouth an answer but Harry interrupted. "And why a luggage case? Do you plan on staying, or moving in? I do have to admit that today has been a day of unexpected visitors for me." 

 

"Oh? What do you mean, Potter? Who was here? Was it--”

 

"Never mind, no one that matters to you, and it’s not important right now. I'm still waiting on your answer, Malfoy; why are you here?"

 

“Why is it so bloody important for you to know?” Draco snapped. “As if you have any business asking questions. I talked to Mother, Potter. She told me about how she risked her life to save you. You owe my family, so if I say I need a place to stay, my word should be enough.”

 

Harry stood up, and his hand moved to the butt of his wand, which protruded from his front pocket. His eyes had narrowed further, and his face had gone pale save for splotches of angry red on his cheeks. “If it were Narcissa needing a room, she could have it. Her word would be enough. Your word isn’t, not without an explanation.”

 

Draco looked from Harry’s wand to his face, shaking his head with disgust. It was just like Potter to try to bully him with magic, especially when Draco’s wand was tucked away in his luggage case. “Look, if I were going to hurt you, would I have come unarmed?” He raised his hands, palms out and fingers spread for emphasis.

 

“If you’re not here on Death Eater business, why are you unwilling to explain yourself?” Harry countered.

 

Draco's mind worked feverishly as he tried to choose between lying to Potter, or opening up and telling him the truth. Finally, he decided and tilted his head up, looking directly at the Gryffindor. "Alright, Potter. Sit down and take your hand off your wand. There will be no tricks, no lies; I will tell you the truth."

 

After nodding, Potter resumed his perch on the edge of the desk, leaning forward on both of his hands.

 

Draco took a deep breath and sat forward in the chair. He hated being loomed over like this, but standing up would only show Potter that he had succeeded in making Draco uncomfortable. "As I told you before, things at Malfoy Manor have been difficult after returning back from Hogwarts. Father and Mother have been at each other constantly since we returned. I have grown tired of that, especially of Father." As Draco finished his explanation, he began to cough, his throat burning from the dust he had stirred up from the books. 

 

"Kreacher, a cup of water," Harry said softly. 

 

Seconds later a shining, crystal glass of water appeared before Draco. He took the glass and admired it before drinking.

 

"First you send your eagle, then you come here yourself. How do you know where I live?" Harry asked.

 

"Trade secrets, Potter; it wasn't hard." Draco grinned enjoying Harry's confusion as he took another sip of the cold water. "I came here tonight because I have taken matters into my own hands, so to speak. Father seems to be more devious than normal as of late. As I told you in the letter, he has some kind of plan in place regarding you."

 

Harry began to ask a question before Draco put his hand into the air to stop him.

 

"I don't know what he wants, so don't bother asking. Father did not tell me what it is. He only wanted me to become better acquainted with you."

 

"And is that why you are here tonight? To become better acquainted with me at Lucius Malfoy's request? I thought you were sick of your father." Harry again folded his arms across his chest.

 

"Yes, I am. Sick of my father, that is. I'm not here to become acquainted with you. I am tired of doing what Father says, and having to go along with his plans.”

 

“Then I don't understand why you're here.”

 

“I only need to stay for two weeks,” Draco told him. “Then you'll be rid of me.” 

 

Harry uncrossed his arms and drummed his fingers on the table. “Yeah, fine. But first give me one good reason to trust you, Malfoy. Tell me the real reason why you're here. You put up with Lucius for eighteen years and suddenly you can't stand him?” 

 

Draco finished the rest of the water, but his mouth still felt lined with sand. He looked down at the desk as he began to speak, watching Harry's hand because he didn't want to look him in the eyes. "Father seems to enjoy using Unforgivable Curses upon his own family. He has used the Cruciatus Curse on me before, and he has used it on Mother as well."

 

“Draco...” Harry's fingers stopped drumming on the table, and he raised his hand as if he were going to put it on Draco's shoulder. Instead, he let it hover in the air a moment and then fall back to the table. “I'm sorry.”

 

"Don't be, Potter. I don't need your pity."

 

“You can stay as long as you need to,” Harry offered. “Why two weeks?”

 

"Father came home tonight in a drunken stupor after visiting the Minister of Magic. He said that the Ministry plans to begin placing Death Eaters and their families on trial, starting with the Malfoy family first. In two weeks, I go before the Wizengamot to answer for the attempted murder of Dumbledore. Father has some sort of plan to restore us to glory, though, and it involves you."

 

Harry laughed at the notion, although it was a sharp, humorless laugh. “What am I supposed to do to save you?” 

 

Draco's brow furrowed at Harry's laugh. Bloody Gryffindors, he thought to himself. Draco shrugged. “I wasn't able to find out. He says I'll find out when it becomes important for me to know, or some such rubbish. Father threatened to use his wand against me, and Mother as well, tonight. I had seen and heard enough from the old man, so I hexed him before he could unleash the Cruciatus on me again." 

 

"I didn't know you had it in you to curse your own father," Harry said dryly. When Draco looked up at him, he though he caught a glimpse of admiration in those green eyes. 

 

"Well I did, and I am glad that I did it. He deserved that and more.”

 

“So did my uncle Vernon,” Harry muttered. “You don't know how many times I wished I could just make him disappear, or worse. They kept me locked in the cupboard under the stairs in their home, and at the same time worshiped the ground that my cousin Dudley walked on." 

 

“Your Muggle uncle?” Draco snorted. “He couldn't even hex you.”

 

“That doesn't matter. I was a child. He could do whatever he bloody well wanted to. Do you know what it’s like to be locked in a room infested with spiders, only to be let out when they want you to be, and then told you must bow to their every order and do everything they say? Then, even when you do try to do something right, you’re beaten for it because it wasn’t done fast enough or well enough, or because they felt like it. Can you imagine what that is like, Malfoy?"

 

Draco frowned and swept his eyes over Harry, seeing him in a new light. He wondered where Vernon had hit him and how long it had taken the bruises to heal. He also wondered what this Vernon looked like and what it would be like to turn the Cruciatus curse on him. “I can imagine,” he whispered, squeezing his left hand and remembering the sting of the silver snake’s head.

 

Harry moved quickly, startling Draco so much that he froze as Harry seized both his hands, pulled them apart, and held them up to inspect them. After dropping Draco’s right hand, Harry traced Draco’s bruise with a finger. “I think you can,” he said. He winced as he followed the contours of the mottled, swollen patch. “I can have Kreacher see to this.”

 

“No!” Draco recoiled from Harry. “It’s nothing. And never do that again, Potter.” The feeling of Harry’s light, cool touch lingered on his hand. He had wanted it to continue, and he hated the very thought of wanting anything from Potter.

 

“Fine,” Harry agreed, looking down at Draco with pity, which was worse than his usual smirking superiority. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, closed it, and finally muttered, “So you can't go home now, not after cursing your father.” 

 

“Not unless I fancy being tortured I can’t.” Draco shook his head, trying to clear his mind of what it felt like to be placed under the Cruciatus Curse by his own father. "Mother came in after it had happened and said that the best place for me to go was here." Draco raised both hands above his shoulders, pointing them at the ceiling. 

 

“And you're sure she's right?” Harry asked.

 

"Mother would never place me in harm's way," Draco replied.

 

"Yes, I agree. There is an unusual good quality about your Mother, even if she is married to a Death Eater.” Harry flashed a smile that looked like nothing Draco had seen before. It was almost as if he had forgotten how much the two of them hated each other. “All right, you can stay the night, and until the trial if you must, but we will discuss everything else in the morning. Good enough for you?"

 

"Yes, Potter. That will suffice for tonight." Draco stood up from the chair, and Harry hopped up from the edge of the table.

 

"Very well. Kreacher!"

 

The house elf apparated into the room, landing on top of the desk. He bowed to Harry, and then made an even longer bow to Draco. "How may Kreacher serve both masters tonight?" 

 

"Kreacher, go and prepare the guest bedroom, and take--" 

 

"Kreacher has already gotten the guest bedroom prepared and has taken Master Malfoy's belongings there. Kreacher has even prepared Master Malfoy a bowl of fresh onion soup if Master Malfoy would want."

 

"Well there you go, Malfoy, looks like you are all set for the night," Harry said. He made his way out of the library and disappeared down the dark hallway

 

"Follow Kreacher, Master Malfoy." Kreacher jumped off of the desk and led Draco out of the room and up to the third floor landing. He opened the door as Draco stepped into a dust and cobweb free bedroom. A silver four-poster bed frame stood in the room surrounded by green, satin curtains. 

 

"Has Kreacher done well, Master Malfoy?" Kreacher asked as he spread his arms in an expansive gesture that included the whole room.

 

"Yes, Kreacher, you have. Close the door on your way out," Draco replied as he walked into the room, noting how similar it looked to his own bedroom at Malfoy Manor. The door closed shut behind him, and Draco sat on the bed, admiring its softness and the silkiness of the sheets. 

 

It hadn't been as bad as he had feared, Draco reflected as he pulled off his shoes and began to undress. Talking with Potter had almost been easy. When he had folded his clothes and placed them on the night table, he lay back on the bed. Grimmauld Place felt like home, probably because by rights, it was his, or would have someday been his if his Mother’s cousin hadn't left it to Potter. He belonged here as much as he ever had at Malfoy Manor.

\---------------------------------------

The morning sun stabbed through the gap between the curtains in Harry’s bedroom, cutting through his sleep. Seconds later, bright green eyes slowly opened to welcome the new day. Partially awake now, having reached for his glasses, Harry sat on the edge of the bed rubbing the light areas of unshaven skin on his jaw and neck. Suddenly remembering that he was not alone in the house, he jumped off the bed, his brain now clear of the hazy veil from his sleep. 

 

After pulling on his jeans from yesterday and a fresh tee shirt, he opened the bedroom door and walked out onto the stairwell landing. He looked down the hallway to the other bedroom that occupied this floor. The room had once belonged to Regulas Black, but was now the guest bedroom. Harry walked to the door and hesitated in front of it.

 

"Was it all a dream?" Harry whispered to himself, mentally replaying last night’s events. Draco’s arrival, and the subsequent conversation, seemed surreal. However, if it had been a dream, it would have ended differently. It had to have been real, and that meant Draco Malfoy was on the other side of the door.

 

The decent thing to do would be to knock, or to wait for Draco to wake up on his own. Still, Harry’s hand found its way to the knob, which turned easily in his hand. Mercifully, the door swung open silently with no creaking hinges to alert Draco to his presence. Bright early morning sunlight flooded through the window and covered the silver bed frame with a golden hue. Against the dark backdrop of the green satin pillowcase, Draco’s skin seemed to glow with its own golden light, and his hair took on a metallic sheen. Asleep, his face expressionless, Draco looked young and vulnerable, almost delicate.

 

"Absolutely beautiful," Harry whispered. 

 

Without waking Draco, Harry closed the door and walked downstairs toward the kitchen, but he would never forget the image he had just seen.

\-------------------------------------

One hour later, Harry found himself looking into the bedroom again at the sleeping Slytherin. Draco had stirred in his sleep, partially throwing off the covers. The sunlight now beamed on the soft, pale flesh of his torso. In an instinctive attempt to block the sun, Draco had draped his left arm over his eyes, and Harry could see the fading lines of the Dark Mark marring the perfect skin above Draco’s wrist. Oh, how he wanted to go into the room, slip under the blankets and just cradle Draco until he woke up. Harry exhaled deeply and slowly as this thought passed through his mind.

 

"Master Harry must not awaken Master Draco." The voice spoke from behind Harry, and he jumped, almost slamming the door in the process.

 

After glancing at Draco to make sure he had not been disturbed, Harry shut the door with great deliberation, ensuring that it closed quietly and completely. Once he had heard the soft click of the latch, he pivoted to face the house elf.

 

"Kreacher, what are you doing sneaking up on me like that?" Harry hissed. "I'm not going to wake him."

 

"Master Harry is watching his guest. This makes twice now this morning that Kreacher has seen Master Harry do this. Does Master wish Kreacher to awaken Master Malfoy?" 

 

"No, Kreacher," Harry said. “You are to promise me that you will never tell Draco that I have done this. One more thing, please stop calling him Master Malfoy. This isn’t his house, it’s mine."

 

"Kreacher will do as Master Harry says."

 

"Good. Now let's go. Draco will be awake soon," Harry said as he looked back at the door one last time.

 

Shortly thereafter, Draco entered the kitchen, where Harry sat drinking tea and leafing through The Dark Arts Outsmarted. The Slytherin’s black robes looked stiff, as if freshly pressed, and his hair had been styled with a precision that bordered on a neurosis. Draco looked first at Harry’s unshaven face and then glanced down at his Muggle clothing. His mouth twisted into a small, contemptuous smirk.

 

“You look like rubbish, Potter.

 

In spite of the words, Draco’s tone lacked its usual venom, and so Harry chose to ignore the quip.

 

"Morning, Malfoy," Harry said before taking a sip of his tea. "Hungry?”

 

Draco nodded. Harry called for Kreacher, and in moments, they each had a plate full of toast, jam, and bacon along with a steaming cup of hot tea.

 

Draco looked down at the plate of food and wrinkled his nose before taking a tentative bite of the toast. As he ate the rest of the breakfast, his eyes wandered all over the room. Whenever his gaze fell on some imperfection, such as the water stain on the ceiling or the cracks in the plaster behind the peeling wallpaper, he would shake his head slightly.

 

Half an hour later, after Harry had eaten two helpings of breakfast, Draco finished eating and swallowed the last drop of tea. 

 

"Finished?" Harry asked as he had been watching Draco eat for the last few minutes.

 

"Yes," Draco replied wiping the last bit of crumb from his lips. "Such as it was.”

 

"Well, at least it was something. I could have not offered you anything," Harry said as he got up from the table.

 

He stood, picked up his book, and made his way to the library, curious to see if Draco would follow. After shelving the book, he turned and was pleased to see that Draco had settled himself in one of the two upholstered armchairs. Harry took hold of the second chair and pulled it across the room so that it faced Draco’s. When Harry sat down, their knees nearly touched. From this distance, he could study Draco’s face carefully and look for any indication that the Slytherin was lying to him.

 

“You’re not here to spy on me for your father,” Harry began, “but you decided that, of all places, this was best for you. Why?”

 

"Potter, I know where you are going with your questions, so just stop it. I know it is just as difficult and strange for you as it is for me to be sitting here facing one another without our wands drawn," Draco paused and looked away for a moment before continuing. "The fact of the matter is this. What I wrote to you in the letter, and what I said to you last night is true. I am tired of Father, and I am tired of having to do everything that he says. I …I just want to try to live a normal wizard’s life. I am sick of being led around by Dark Lords, black secrets, and of having to live my life by Father’s hand."

 

Harry took a deep breath while he studied Draco's face. "I believe you, Malfoy. I saw it in your eyes that night on the Astronomy Tower."

 

"You what?" Draco asked, sitting forward in his chair.

 

"I was there, Malfoy. I was under my cloak and Dumbledore had placed a charm over me so that I could not move or speak, but I saw everything. I know that you could not kill Dumbledore," Harry said. "As much as you wanted to try and be a Death Eater, you’re not a murderer.” 

 

“You were there,” Draco repeated softly. “You saw everything?” His eyes widened, and his hands clenched on his own knees, his knuckles whitening. “If you saw what truly happened, then you can speak for me at the trial. They’ll believe you.”

 

“I can speak for you,” Harry agreed. And if they don’t believe me, he added mentally, I’ll find a way to get you out of there. We’ll go somewhere safe. If we have to we can go into the Muggle world, and I will make sure that neither the Ministry nor any Aurors will ever catch you.

 

“Thanks. You’re wrong about me, you know. I never wanted to be a Death Eater. I didn’t want to be one of them, and now I’m being blamed for what they did!”

 

“And that’s why you’re here,” Harry said, nodding to himself as he pieced it together. “You have nowhere else to turn. Half your friends were Death Eaters, and the other half will not help you because it wouldn’t be to their advantage. Without your Slytherin friends, you are as vulnerable as anybody else is.”

 

Draco scowled, and a flush of anger, or perhaps shame, spread through his cheeks. "And what about you, Potter? Father always told me that you managed to make it through because of your friends and pure luck." 

 

"He's right. I won’t lie about it," Harry answered, "Without Hermione and Ron at times, I would not have been successful. Take them away and I am as vulnerable as you are. People seem to have this image of me, Harry Potter, as the wizard who cannot be killed. I have bad news for them, I have died once already. And yes, it was at the hands of Voldemort."

 

Draco did not flinch at the sound of the name, but instead raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘you died’? Is that some sort of metaphor for you feeling sorry for yourself and living here in this dump all alone?”

 

"No, it’s the literal truth; I died. I won't bore you with a history lesson, Malfoy, but you have heard of horcruxes, yes?" Draco nodded. "Good. Voldemort split his soul into seven horcruxes. Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I managed to destroy six of them."

 

"And the seventh?" Draco asked.

 

"The seventh was inside of me. In order for it to be destroyed, I would have to be killed. My death was the only way for Voldemort to be defeated.”

 

Draco’s flush had disappeared and now he sat back in his chair, giving Harry the same rapt attention he had usually saved for Professor Snape. "What happened?" 

 

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes as a single tear rolled down his cheek. "Some people may call it Heaven, while others would simply say it was the afterlife. However you may call it what you like, but I did go there. Inside of this world, I spoke with Dumbledore, except in the end it all became King's Cross Station, and I returned into my body. When I barely opened my eyes I was back in the Forbidden Forest and your mother was kneeling over me, examining me to see if I was alive. Had Voldemort sent Bellatrix or another Death Eater to see if I was dead, I would not be here today speaking to you," Harry said.

 

“You sacrificed yourself,” Draco said flatly, his face unreadable as he frowned at Harry.

 

“Don’t you start with that!” Harry shook his head. “I’m tired of hearing about it. I did what I had to do, just as you did what you had to do in order to save your father. All that matters is that Voldemort is finally dead, and I’m glad.”

 

"That makes two of us that are glad that the bastard is dead," Draco said as he held out his left arm and rolled up his sleeve. "I hated being a Death Eater, and being intimidated by him. He would always make a mockery of our family, except for Bellatrix. Truthfully, I am not sure he cared for her either. I think he just put up with her to use her for his gain."

 

They both looked at Draco's arm where the Dark Mark had begun to fade. "You can still see it, but it is slowly disappearing," Draco said as he pushed his sleeve down. "I suppose I should thank you for that? Add that to the list of things I owe you, Potter, along with letting me stay in your house and feeding me that wretched breakfast.”

 

“Maybe you don’t have to owe me, Draco.” Harry felt his face heat, and he rubbed his palms against the knees of his pants to dry them. He spoke the next words quickly, unable to look at Draco as he did so. “Maybe we could be friends, and then it wouldn’t matter who owed whom.”

 

Draco scoffed. "Friends? I tried being your friend seven years ago, but you turned away from me."

 

“You wouldn’t have wanted me for a friend, anyway, not then, not once you found out I had Muggle blood.”

 

“I was a stupid kid!” Draco snarled, pouting. “If you had given me a chance instead of running off with Granger and Weasley, I would have seen that Father was wrong. If I had you instead of Crabbe and Goyle…” He shrugged and shook his head sadly. “You never gave me the chance to change, or a reason to.”

 

Harry looked directly into Draco's blue-grey eyes. "I know," Harry began, "I know that we cannot go back and correct what has been done in the past. But we can start a better and new future. I'm here now trying to fix a mistake that I made seven years ago." Harry extended his hand outward for Draco to shake, opposite shades of what occurred seven years earlier.

 

Draco looked at Harry's extended hand, and then looked back into Harry's eyes. He rolled up his sleeve again and raised his arm so that the Dark Mark pointed out at Harry. “I still have this, and if that weren’t enough, I’m being tried as a criminal. No wizard in his right mind would want to be associated with me. If I do accept your handshake, what about your friends, what will they think?”

 

Harry placed his left hand onto his forehead and pushed the hair upward, exposing the lightning shaped scar to Draco. “I have this, Malfoy. What about your friends? Are you going to be worried about what they say about you when you’re not around? Are you worried what they’ll think if you’re seen with the Chosen One? Because I’m not. I don’t care what people say about me" 

 

“And what do you get out of this?” Draco wondered aloud, his eyes narrowing.

 

Harry laughed, but still refused to lower his hand. “Spoken like a true Slytherin. A friend doesn’t have to ask that question, Draco.”

 

With great deliberation, Draco reached out and took Harry’s hand in a firm grip. “Alright, Potter, friends it is.”

 

The handshake lasted seconds, but for Harry it erased years of animosity. When they released each other, Harry slumped back into his chair with relief, but Draco sat stiffly, brooding almost as if he regretted their friendship already.

 

“Draco?” Harry prompted. “Is there something else?”

 

“A friend doesn’t have to answer that question,” Draco snapped. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

 

“Fine.” Harry sighed, irritated that Draco had to ruin an important moment with his petulant sulking. Being friends with Draco, clearly, was not going to be an easy path. He almost found himself gaining respect for Crabbe and Goyle.


	15. A Malfoy Scorned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more. This chapter is a bit of an "interlude" linking the previous two chapters and the next chapter that will be written. It was decided that it is best to allow this short, but very intense chapter to stand on its own. So hope that everyone enjoys reading this chapter.

Chapter 15: A Malfoy Scorned

 

Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes fluttered as she awakened. For a moment, she thought that she must still be dreaming, as all that she could see was complete darkness. Her knuckles scraped against a cold, hard floor as she stretched. Awake with panic now, she rolled over onto her stomach and realized that she was not in her comfortable, warm bed, but was instead in a room with no lighting. 

 

“Accio, wand!” she called, but the spell failed.

 

She ran her hands over her body and found that she still wore the green satin nightdress she had put on last night. The gown had no pockets, and her wand was not tucked into the bodice or sleeves. She had no serious injuries, though her wrists and forearms felt bruised and tender, as if someone had dragged her here. She took a deep breath and tried to recall how she had come here, but her most recent memory was of going to bed alone.

 

“Help!” She screamed as she crawled around on the floor, desperately trying to feel for anything. Her hands found only cold, pitted stone. Slowly, she stood up, expecting to hit her head upon a low ceiling, but instead she was able to stand to her full height. 

 

Narcissa inhaled deeply, and she could sense a faint odor that smelled of mold and dust. Somewhere in the darkness, a faint drip of water sounded as if it were leaking onto the stone floor. A small squeak startled her as she heard what sounded like mice or rats somewhere in this confinement with her. In the near-silence, she could hear the scraping of their tiny claws as clearly as a word whispered in her ear.

 

"Shoo! Back away!" she said, hoping her voice would frighten the rodents enough to keep them off of her. She had always hated mice and rats. The thought of one of the filthy animals crawling on her made her shudder.

 

Many thoughts ran through her mind as to where she was, and more importantly, why she was here. Lucius had made many enemies, both within the Death Eaters and in the Ministry. Any one of them could be trying to use her to influence him. Perhaps more frightening was the thought that the Ministry officials might have changed their minds and decided to imprison her family until the trial, if they would even be granted a trial. She could be in Azkaban already, for all she knew.

 

At least Draco is safe, thank Merlin! She thought. Harry Potter would never turn him over to a Death Eater, and he would never let Draco be punished for a crime that he did not commit. Of course, that all depended on Harry being able to overpower or outmaneuver the would-be abductors. Narcissa herself had been taken unawares, which meant that Draco could also be here.

 

Carefully, she began to walk about the room, her hands outstretched, anticipating the touch of something. The chill of the stone floor seeped through her bare feet, numbing her toes and sending shivers through her whole body. Eventually, her fingertips felt another cold surface. Her fingernails dug into it, and the smell of earth and mold grew stronger. 

 

“Dirt!” Narcissa said as she brought her fingertips under her nose, inhaling the scent. She placed her hands on the wall and let them glide over the hard-packed soil as she walked the perimeter of the room. She continued this process as she made her way in what felt like a circle. All that she could feel was the cool clay under her fingers as the earthy wall seemed to stretch higher than she could reach. In one corner, water dripped from the ceiling. A fat drop landed on her head and slithered down her brow, sliding over her nose and onto her upper lip before she wiped at it with the back of her hand. The water smelled vile, like death and decay. Slowly, she continued to feel in the dark, hoping that she would come across a surface that was not made of earth. 

 

Eventually she found a surface that seemed to be made of a hard wood. She scratched her fingernails on it and could feel the rough, unfinished texture. She fumbled blindly, hoping for a doorknob, but could not find one. Steeling herself against anticipated pain, she rammed the door with her shoulder, hoping against hope that it would give way. The wood reverberated from the impact, but held fast, and she cried out in pain and frustration. 

 

“Help!” She screamed, as she beat on the surface with her fists and screamed as loud as her lungs would allow her to do. “Lucius?”

 

Her voice had become hoarse, as the air was filled with dust stirred up by her explorations in the darkness. “Draco!” Narcissa screamed with all of her breath into the darkness before coughing violently. The only sounds that she could hear were her own noises as she slid down and crouched onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. 

 

Time seemed to pass very slowly as she sat there weeping, not knowing why she had been placed in this room, nor who had put her here. Her shivering grew more violent as the green satin gown provided no protection against the chill. Her shoulder throbbed from the impact with the door, and her throat burned with thirst. Soon, she would be willing to drink the foul water that dripped from the ceiling, but not yet. The tears began to ease as another sound emanated from the other side of the door. It was the sound of a loud creak, as if an old iron gate was on the other side of this wooden door.

 

She backed away from the door and moved toward the center of the room. “Help me, I’m in here!” she screamed as she heard footsteps outside of the wooden door. She longed for the door to open; even if the person on the other side turned out to be one of her captors, at least she would see some light. 

 

The door swung open with a thud as it hit the wall of dirt to the side of it. No light shone from the other side of the door. Whoever her captors were, they were smart enough not to allow any light to shine into the room when they entered.

 

“Who are you?” She shouted, standing up. “What is it you want from me?”

 

The door closed with a thud as Narcissa stood in place. Narcissa had an impulse to dart through the darkness and touch whoever was in the room with her. She hesitated, and took a step forward, but her hands found empty air. Her captor lightly chuckled at the vain attempt while beginning to pace around the room. 

 

Narcissa turned in a circle as she tried to keep up with the rhythmic pace of the footsteps. 

 

“Damn it, you coward, speak to me!” Narcissa snarled, her patience eroded by the monotonous march of the footsteps. 

 

The sound of the steps carried on for a few seconds more before they stopped. “The greatest weakness of all is the fear of the unknown,” a familiar voice came from the darkness, and Narcissa gasped. “How does it feel, Narcissa, to be unable to grasp that which you cannot see?” 

 

“Lucius? Is this your doing? For Merlin’s sake, please let me out of here!” Narcissa said, as she moved toward the general direction of her husband’s voice. “Please, why am I here?”

 

The sound of footsteps began again, loud and constant in volume, as if Lucius were pacing the room. “You are here because you have failed me.” 

 

Narcissa turned in the darkness, wanting to see the face of her husband, but only able to hear the thudding of his walk. “What do you mean? How have I failed you, Lucius?”

 

No answer came from the darkness, only the cadence of the footsteps in the room. “Answer me!” Narcissa screamed as she began to cry once more. 

 

The footsteps stopped, as if he were somehow watching Narcissa cry. “You continue to defy my plans.”

 

“How...how have I defied you, Lucius?” Narcissa asked as she wiped her eyes with the back of her dirty hand. “Tell me, what have I done to deserve this?” 

 

Once again there was no immediate response except for the footsteps that rang through the small room. “I cannot have you interfering with my plans. So for your own good, you have been placed here.”

 

"For my own good?" She laughed hysterically, although nothing about the situation was humorous. "And what of our son? What have you done for his own good? Where’s Draco?” 

 

“I should be asking you that, my dear,” Lucius voice came from behind Narcissa. She quickly spun in place, only to be greeted with more darkness.

 

“You, my dear, have poisoned Draco’s mind with your wretched weakness. You never could understand the cruel realities of the path to true power. That’s why you never took the Dark Mark, and it is why I cannot trust you now. It was you who turned my own son against me, causing him to curse his own father!”

 

“Lucius, please I...” Narcissa began.

 

“That’s correct Cissy, it was you! And because of you and your polluted thoughts, I now must take action against my own son!”

 

“Lucius please, no. Do not harm our son! If I am the cause of this, then punish me,” she pleaded. “What has caused you to turn against your own family like this?”

 

“I promise you, my dear, you will be punished.” The footsteps began once again, but instead of circling the room, they began to fade away from Narcissa.

 

“Crucio!” Lucius uttered the curse in a loud whisper.

 

Narcissa collapsed to her knees. She screamed in agony as the curse flowed through her body. The flashes of red light from the curse illuminated the room like some hellish lightning storm. Narcissa struggled to look up from the floor, and when she managed to raise her head, she glimpsed Lucius's face each time the unnatural light flashed. His eyes were wide, and he smiled with his lips parted in obvious enjoyment.

 

“Where…is…Draco?” Lucius asked, his voice soft and intense.

 

Narcissa tried to curl into a fetal position upon the floor, but the effects of the curse seemed to be have paralyzed every muscle in her body. She tried to scream, yet no sound would rise from her throat. 

 

The curse seemed to be getting stronger the longer that she tried to resist. White starbursts filled her vision as Narcissa realized that she was close to losing consciousness. 

 

“Lucius…please,” Narcissa feebly cried out. She wasn't sure if she had managed to speak aloud. 

 

Seconds later the curse stopped, and the room went black once more as Lucius’ voice calmly spoke, “Lumos.” 

 

The tip of his wand dimly lit the small room. He knelt and peered coldly into Narcissa’s eyes. “That, my dear, is only the start of your punishment. Now, tell me where our son is.”

 

"Why?" she whispered. "What will you do with him?"

 

With the back of his hand, Lucius stroked her cheek in a parody of tenderness. “Were I in your position, I would be more concerned about what I will do with you.”

 

His hand continued downward, tracing the neckline of her gown. He had always liked hurting her, and she could not recall the last time he had touched her without humiliating her first. A part of her responded to the feel of his warm hand on her chest as she recalled all the times that pleasure had followed pain. If she gave in to him now and told him where Draco was, he might forgive her, and his forgiveness could be exquisite. 

 

She shrunk away from his touch, furious with herself for even contemplating betraying Draco. “I don't care what you do to me!” she spat. “All that matters is my son.” 

 

“Our son, Cissy!” Lucius snapped. “My son, who needs a father's discipline.” 

 

“Promise me you won't harm him.” 

 

Lucius struck her cheek with the back of his hand, knocking her head into the stone floor so that she saw another phantom starburst. Her stomach spasmed, and she rolled onto her side, dry heaving and reeling from the blow. Her cheek felt wet, and she smelled the metallic tang of blood; one of his rings had cut her.

 

He bent over her again, bringing his face close to hers and tangling his hand in her hair. “I promise you this, Narcissa. If I am forced to find him on my own, his punishment will be far more severe than if you tell me his whereabouts now.” After pulling hard enough to induce a fresh stream of tears, he released her. 

 

Narcissa slowly sat up and attempted to gather herself from the effects of the curse and the blow. She wiped at the blood and tears on her face smearing her cheeks. “Draco...” she started as she tried to gather the breath into her lungs, “he is doing what you wanted him to do, Lucius. He has gone to befriend Potter. He is at the house of Black.” 

 

The light from his wand faded, and Lucius’ face disappeared into the darkness. “Let us hope, for your sake and for his, that he is indeed there at Potter’s doing what I told him to do.” The footsteps began once again, as Lucius walked through the darkness and toward the door.

 

“Lucius!” Narcissa screamed, summoning all of the strength and courage that she had left. “Lucius Malfoy, if you harm my son I will tell them all about you at the trial! Then you will rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life!”

 

The footsteps stopped shortly and then they echoed much more quickly and loudly, coming closer to Narcissa. From the darkness Narcissa felt a hand grab her lower jaw and squeeze. The pain was immense as stars once again began to appear before her eyes. 

 

“That’s right. You can tell the Wizengamot everything, but the truth is that your words will not matter!” Lucius snarled as Narcissa cried in pain. He held onto her lower jaw for a few seconds more, keeping his other hand on her shoulder to ensure that she remained on her knees. She focused on her breathing, keeping it slow and steady as she tried not to think about what would come next. He shoved her backwards with his boot, releasing her face at the same time so that she fell back against the stone. Narcissa lay there weeping and cradling her face as his footsteps disappeared through the darkness.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lucius walked to the iron gate and silently opened it with his wand. He then began to ascend the steps leading up from the dark underground room. Standing at the top-most step and holding a lantern was the Malfoy house elf, Kraven. 

 

“Come, Kraven, I have very urgent work to do,” Lucius said as he walked past the elf and on toward his office. Once inside the room, Lucius turned as the house elf entered. “See that Narcissa is fed, and clean up after her. If you so much as utter a word about any of this, or attempt to help her escape, I will kill you where you stand. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

 

Kraven shook with fear, but bowed slowly before Lucius. “Kraven understands Master’s orders. Kraven will do his duty, Master.” 

 

“Now go and wait by the front door, I have a very important business associate whom I am expecting. When he arrives show him in, and then after our meeting has concluded, I want you to go find the house elf named Kreacher.”


	16. My Soul To Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was alot of fun to write and what started out as a simple idea quickly built into a much larger chapter. Guess that is how it goes.  
> Please do feel free to comment, or review as muh as you want on any chapter or about any part of the story.

Chapter 16 : My Soul To Keep

 

“I can see into your heart, Harry Potter!”

The voice intruded on Harry’s awareness as he watched his parents, seeing the final joyful minutes of their lives before Voldemort changed everything forever. He stepped forward, observing the small baby crib in the middle of the living room. James bent over the crib, making faces and wiggling his fingers with his thumbs in his ears.

“James, stop it. Harry is going to grow up to be just like you if you don’t stop doing that,” Lily sassed as she walked by the living room and toward the tiny kitchen. “It’s bad enough that Sirius is teaching him his bad manners already,” she finished, but with a cheeky smile on her face as she went into the kitchen.

“You know, dear…” James began as he gently picked baby Harry up out of the crib, lightly tossed him into the air and caught him. This playful act elicited a spontaneous grin and a laugh from the baby. “Harry looks more like you with each passing day,” he finished as he rounded the corner and walked into the kitchen, only to be met by his wife. 

“Oh, James,” she replied while lightly kissing him, “no, he looks more like you.” She placed a soft kiss upon baby Harry’s forehead.

The sound of the front door latch unlocking brought them both out of their loving moment. “He’s found us! Lily, take Harry and run, go now!” 

“James, no!” Lily cried, desperate for her husband to come with her.

The front door exploded inward, just barely missing Lily as she ran up the stairs toward the second floor of the house. A bright, sickening light filled the bottom floor of the house as Lily Potter slammed the bedroom door shut.

She cradled Harry close to her bosom, holding him tightly, knowing these would be the last precious seconds that she would ever see her baby son. The door behind her exploded as she placed Harry into the bassinet then turned to face her adversary. “You can’t have him! I won’t let you take him!”

“Out of my way, woman!” The high-pitched voice spoke from behind the cloaked mask. 

“No!” Lily stood her ground between the Dark Lord and baby Harry. She looked at Harry one last time with her dark green eyes, saying her love and good-byes to her son.

“Avada Kedavra!” The deathly green light filled the room.

\--------------------

Harry awakened and sat rigid in his bed while gasping as if being choked. His lungs struggled to inhale the air while his hands clutched at his blankets so hard that his fingers ached. His heartbeat began to slow as he closed his eyes. Harry began counting backwards trying to let the images of the nightmare fade away. He pounded his fist into the pillow, furious that he had allowed this nightmare to happen again. Once his anger had cooled, Harry flopped back down in the bed and stared at his glasses, which sat upon the night side table.

The sound of girlish giggling came from a corner of Harry’s bedroom. “Stop it, Potter, now you’re imagining things,” Harry muttered to himself as he closed his eyes and buried his head deeper into the pillow. 

Again the sound of small giggles came to Harry from somewhere within the confines of his bedroom. Harry sat upright in his bed, squinting at the darkness as he tried to locate the source of the laughter. He reached for his glasses and wand.

“Lumos.” The wand illuminated the bedroom with its soft glow. Harry turned the knob on the oil lamp forward. “Nox.” Harry’s bedroom glowed in the soft reddish light from the oil lamp as he found the source of the sounds. 

Located in the corner of his bedroom were two little girls. Harry tossed back the covers from his bed, standing up in his night robes while never taking his eyes from them. Harry suspected that this might be some trick perpetrated by Draco or even the work of another Death Eater. 

From their clothing, he guessed that these were two Muggle girls, probably around the ages of nine or ten. They were both dressed in identical white dresses, laced with pink frills. Small, pink ribbons held the girls’ blonde hair back in ponytails. They were both sitting in miniature rocking chairs, each girl cradling a tattered doll. Harry made his way to the end of his bed and sat down, bemused. From this vantage point, Harry could see that the girls were identical twins. 

He watched as the twins gently rocked with the tattered dolls snug in the cradles of their arms. As they rocked, they sang a tune in eerie unison.

Now I lay me down to sleep,  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep  
If I die before I wake,  
I pray the Dark Lord, my soul to take.

“Hey!” Harry spoke up, interrupting the rhyme. Its words had a frightening effect on Harry, as a cold chill had run up his spine when the twins sang it. 

“Little girls,” Harry said as he got up from his bed, crossing the space between them. He lightly touched the nearest girl on the shoulder, causing both girls to look up at Harry simultaneously.

Harry immediately wanted to vomit at what he saw before him. Both of the girls had no eyes, only black holes. Once more, the light laughter of innocence came from both girls as they stared at Harry with their soulless eyes.

Trying to control the urge and not spew everywhere, Harry sat back down at the foot of his bed and breathed deeply. After a moment of trying to catch his breath and not have the bile rush into his throat, Harry looked up at the twins as they stared back at him. “Why…why are you here?" Harry burped as a bit of the acidic bile tickled the bottom of his esophagus. He forced it back down and continued with his questioning. “Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“The Dark Lord’s reign is at hand,” the twins said together, the combination of their voices producing a flat, monotonous tone that was so unlike a child's voice. 

“What?” Harry asked, standing up. “How can he be alive? I killed him!” Neither twin looked away from Harry. Their empty eyes bored into him. “Voldemort’s own curse killed him, I saw it! Everyone in the Great Hall saw it!”

“The darkness will rise once again. He sees within all souls,” the twins said with their synchronized voice. “He comes for you, Harry Potter. He comes for his revenge.”

"Look, tell me who you are! I just told you that Voldemort is dead, he can’t come back! We destroyed all of his horcruxes, and then we killed him!” Harry said, bewildered by the twins.

Both girls turned their lifeless faces away from Harry and began the same eerie rhyme.

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep--“

Harry grabbed the nearest twin by her shoulder, stopping the chant and causing both girls to stare at him once more. Sensing that he had done something wrong, Harry released the girl and stepped back away from them. Silently, the twins silently stood up and pointed their small index fingers at the bedroom door.

“He’s here.” 

“What? Voldemort is here?” Harry asked. 

Neither twin would answer Harry’s question. They both sat down in the rockers with their tattered dolls and began the rhyme once more. Harry stood in place, baffled by everything. He thought about asking both twins to leave his bedroom or expelling them from his house with a hex. Yet, some small voice inside of him advised against doing that. Harry walked to his bedroom door and hesitated before reaching for the doorknob. He glanced over again at the two small, twin girls. Completely oblivious to his actions, they remained entranced with the repetition of the haunting rhyme.

Harry held his wand at the ready, in case there was a Death Eater or even though it was impossible, if Voldemort was on the other side of this door. Qucikly, he wrenched the doorknob and opened the door. What he saw before him was worse than a Death Eater or Voldemort standing in front of him.

\---------

"No!" This is not happening, it's a dream," Harry mumbled while shaking his head from side to side in disbelief of what was in front of him. He reached for the doorknob that he had just let go of as he walked out of his bedroom and onto the grounds of Hogwarts. His fingers did not feel anything behind him except air, and when Harry turned around, expecting to see the door to his bedroom, there was nothing there. 

"Damn it, no! It's all just a dream!" Harry yelled. "Wake up, Potter!" Harry pinched his arm, trying to awaken himself from the dream. "I am not going through this again, I know what happens!" Unsuccessful at waking himself, Harry closed his eyes in hopes that when he opened them, he would be in his own bed and that none of this would ever have happened. He tried to drown out the thunderous rumble that came from overhead as if a thunderstorm filled the sky above. Green and white lightning streaked across the sky, filling the back of Harry's closed eyelids with its luminous glow. Harry opened his eyes again, and cursed. 

The scene before him did not change. Just as with Harry's previous dream, the devastation from the battle surrounded him. Knowing that he must again face his nightmares, Harry began to slowly walk between the fallen bodies, completely aware of everything that he was about to come across.

"First I see Ginny, Hermione, and Malfoy over here in the courtyard," Harry spoke as he narrated his every step. "Malfoy killed Hermione or Ginny, and then one of them cursed him, probably after he had injured them internally with some dark magic. Malfoy's body is slumped over by the marble column in the front courtyard," Harry finished as he stepped into the courtyard that he had just spoken about. 

Red hair fanned out to frame a pale face with wide, empty eyes. "Ron!" Harry shouted, as he knelt down lightly touching his best friend's face. "This is supposed to be Ginny. Why are you here?" Harry muttered to himself. He gently pushed Ron's eyelids down, and turned around to see the brown curls that connected to Hermione's dead body. "Malfoy, he killed them both!" 

Harry rose from the ground, and walked over toward the marble pillar. Slumped against it was a blond haired person. As he drew nearer to the column, Harry was shocked to see that it wasn't Draco Malfoy's corpse, but instead that of Lucius Malfoy.

"Lucius?" Harry asked, as if the dead body would answer his question. "It was Draco before," Harry repeated to himself, confused by what he saw.

A loud rumble of thunder accompanied by a sizzling show of green and white lightning in the sky snapped Harry from his questioning, as in the distance he saw a small group of people and the source of the lightning.

"Voldemort!" He strode toward the group with intentions of killing the dark wizard once and for all, even if it meant his own death in the process. Maybe killing him in the dream would finally end the cycle and allow Harry to sleep without fear. The dream was repeating because each time, he made the wrong choice. He would rectify that this time. 

"Yes, that's right, allow him to come closer," Voldemort said as Harry made his way and now stood in front of him. "Harry Potter…not so much afraid to die?"

A shrill scream cracked the air as Harry looked to his left. Ginny Weasley was forced to kneel upon the ground while Bellatrix tortured her with the Cruciatus Curse. Harry stepped toward Ginny, but an invisible shield met him. "Not so fast, Harry, there is more to see," Voldemort taunted. 

"Bring him!" The Dark Lord called, pointing toward another Death Eater. Following Voldemort's order, one of the Death Eaters marched Draco Malfoy forward and forced him to kneel beside Ginny Weasley. "Bellatrix, cease your fun for the moment." Bellatrix did as she had been ordered. Ginny's screaming stopped as she swayed while trying to speak to Harry.

"H…Harry, please help!" 

"I know Gin, I know," Harry said. He turned and looked into the red eyes of Voldemort.

"You are still so stubborn, Harry Potter, just like your parents." 

"At least my parents died protecting me. At least they weren't like you-- a sick, freak!"

Voldemort smiled wickedly at Harry. "Yes. You will do very nicely. The anger boils inside; a perfect specimen."

"What are you talking about?"

"It is this, Harry Potter! The day that I gave you that scar was the day that I created my equal. You, Harry, have all of the seeds inside of you to become my successor, the next Dark Lord!"

"You're bloody crazy! I'm a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin! I would never turn my back on the Wizarding World and what Dumbledore has taught me!!"

"So naïve, Harry," Voldemort chided. "He used people to attain his status and power. Look at yourself. What have you gained from his knowledge?"

Harry did not answer as he feverishly tried to think of something to say, but nothing would come to mind.

"All that you have gained from him is sorrow and loss. But I can give you a new legacy." Voldemort lowered his hand and gently raised Harry's chin upwards as a parent would do to a beloved child. "You can still be the great Harry Potter, the Chosen One!"

Harry looked up into the sky and whispered to himself. He then brought his gaze back down and coldly looked into the red-slit eyes of Voldemort. "Yes, I will still be the famous Harry Potter." 

Harry extended his hand outward toward Voldemort. With his right hand Voldemort grasped Harry's hand as the Dark Mark shot from Voldemort's wand and into the night sky. "Harry, I welcome you," Voldemort said as he released Harry and placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder as a proud father would do to his son. "Now you have one task to complete to show me your true loyalty."

Voldemort waved his wand as Bellatrix moved from Ginny and Draco. Both remained kneeling, held in place as if by a binding spell. "You must sacrifice one. The other will be your horcrux."

Harry looked at Ginny, who was crying and pleading with Harry not to kill her, mouthing the words even though no sound would come from her throat. Draco Malfoy did not even bother to look at Harry or Voldemort. He chose to keep his head bowed down, as if studying the ground below his knees.

"Sacrifice part of your past, Harry Potter. Destroy either the love of your life, or the one that you call your arch nemesis. The one who you pick to live will become your vessel for the rest of your lives."

Slowly Harry raised his wand while still studying both Ginny and Draco."Avada Kedavra!" Harry hissed as the green glow reflected in his eyes. 

Ginny Weasley was dead before she fell to the ground. 

Harry pocketed his wand as he stepped in front of Draco Malfoy and tipped the Slytherin's chin upward. He then reached down and laced his fingers around Draco's fingers, helping to pull the Slytherin to his feet.

"Draco! I choose you, Draco Malfoy, as my lifelong partner. You are my rock, and you have my soul," Harry said as cupped Draco's face and kissed his soft, pink lips. Gently, their lips parted as Draco stood in place, not saying a word to Harry, but speaking to him with his eyes. After a moment of gazing into those beautiful grey-blue eyes, Harry turned to Voldemort. "He is my vessel."

"A wise choice, Harry Potter. He will serve you well. Now, there is one last act. Hold out your left arm, my prince."

Harry braced himself as the tip of Voldemort's wand began to glow and the Dark Mark began to touch Harry's skin. Harry struggled to maintain consciousness and began to scream as the pain of the Dark Mark tainted his body and soul. 

\---------------------------------------------

Harry's screams subsided as he found himself inside the living room of Lily and James' house at Godric's Hollow. The door exploded inward as James handed the baby to Lily and told her to run. Harry looked around for the source of the explosion and saw Voldemort walking through the rubble.

"Stop, wait!" Harry screamed as he tried in vain to divert the dark wizard's attention. "No, don't!" 

James Potter flew through the air as the killing curse hit him squarely in the chest, causing him to land at the foot of the stairs. Harry ran to the stairwell, leaping over the dead body of his young father.

"I command you to stop, I am your equal!" Harry screamed at the Dark Lord, but there was no response from him. Voldemort glided past Harry as he made his way upstairs. "Crucio!" Harry shouted as he held his wand, aiming it at Voldemort's back. 

No light or spell came from the wand. Quickly, Harry hurdled up the rest of the stairs as Voldemort reached the bedroom door. "Protego!" Harry shouted. "What's going on? Why won't it work?" 

He quickly pounded the wand against the palm of his hand before pointing it at Voldemort once more. "Expelleriamus!" Once more, the wand failed. "No, come on, work damn it!"

Harry ran down the hallway, pointing his wand until he was standing right beside the dark wizard. "Avada Kedavra!"

A bright flash filled the hallway as the door to the bedroom exploded. Lily Potter screamed as she placed the baby in the crib and stood between it and Voldemort. Harry ran over to the crib and looked at the baby inside, expecting to see his younger self. 

"What? That's not me!" Harry gasped. "Teddy!"

The green death light filled the room as Harry turned to watch his mother collapse to the floor. Voldemort moved closer to the crib, wand extended outward. Teddy sat in the crib as he stared at the end of the green glowing wand. 

"No!" Harry yelled as he tried to grab the hand of Voldemort only to see and feel his hands pass through air. The green light filled the room once more as Harry screamed.

\--------------

"Potter! Potter! What's happening?" Harry opened his eyes at the sound of someone screaming his name. Seconds later his bedroom door was flung open, and Draco Malfoy rushed into the bedroom.

Draco's cheeks had a deep red tint against his pale skin. His blond hair was in disarray and he held his wand as if ready to attack someone. The tip of the wand glowed, illuminating his bare chest and black pajama bottoms. "What is your bloody problem?" Draco demanded.

"What?" Harry asked, still hazy from his dreams.

"Your problem, what is your problem? Why are you screaming like a bloody banshee?" 

"Was I screaming?" 

"Yes, you were screaming. You called for me, and then for someone named, Teddy. I'm surprised every person in London didn't hear you this morning," Draco explained as he tossed his hands in exasperation.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Harry replied. "It was a nightmare."

"Or maybe you couldn't live for a whole night without anyone paying attention to you!" Draco scoffed as he paced in front of the bed. "Harry Potter has to go and make a fuss so someone will come running to save him.”

"So that's what this is? You thought I was in danger and you're here to...” Harry paused, rubbed at his eyes with the backs of his hands, and studied Draco. The Slytherin's face was set in its usual expression of contempt, but when he had stormed through the door, he had worn a different expression. Could it have been concern? “You're here to rescue me?” Harry asked as he sat up on the edge of the bed.

Draco snorted. "Who said I was coming in here because I cared? I was coming in here to place a Silencing Charm on you so that I could go back to sleep!"

Harry jumped out of the bed, his temper flaring. He took a step toward Draco, and to his surprise, Draco stayed in place, tilting his head slightly downward and looking Harry in the eyes. Their faces were inches apart, and if either of them were to lean forward, they would touch. Harry could smell the fragrance of Draco's hair mousse and cologne. The scent was intoxicating to Harry, as was being this close to the object of his fantasies. Looking into those grey-blue eyes and not being able to kiss Draco as he had in his dream was maddening. The fact that Draco was half-undressed made Harry suddenly aware of the fact that he wore only a pair of boxer shorts. Everything he wanted was within reach. In his dream, he had invoked two Unforgivable Curses, and the third was tempting him now. One word, Imperio, and Draco would be his. 

Both young men stood still for a few seconds more before Harry took a step back. "I apologize, Malfoy, if my nightmares woke you up and caused you to lose sleep," Harry said as he breathed deeply, resisting the urge to hex and kiss Draco. "I will place a Silencing Charm over the door at night so that it won't bother you again."

“See that you do that, if you can even manage a spell that complex without Granger to help you.” 

“I can manage,” Harry promised. “And you're not needed here, so you might as well go back to sleep.” 

Draco shook his head. “I'm awake now anyway, thanks to you. Have your house elf make our breakfast.” He turned on his heel and began walking back toward the door. When he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder and ran his eyes over Harry. “One more thing, Potter, for the love of Merlin, put some bloody clothes on!”

 

\-------------------------------

The morning hours had passed by without much conversation between the two young men. Harry had grown weary of Draco's glancing remarks over the last three days, and all that he wanted now was to be left alone with his own thoughts. He made his way into the library and sat behind the desk, twirling the ink quill with his fingers. No book could hold his attention, and even the prospect of practicing spells seemed unappealing. Words and images from his dreams swirled in his head, and he struggled to understand them. After an amount of time that could have been a minute, an hour, or more, the door to the library opened. Harry glanced up and watched Draco enter the room. 

The Slytherin briefly looked at Harry before walking across the room, choosing to focus his attention on the Black family tree rather than on Harry's brooding. Harry dropped the quill and lazily opened a book that was on the desk. He feigned interest in the words on the page while stealing occasional looks at Draco. Every so often Harry would look down at the book as he pretended to be reading, but he knew that Draco was watching him, too.

"I wish you could see yourself right now, Potter. You always do have the audacity to talk about my sulking," Draco said as he looked at the wall.

"I'm not sulking, Malfoy," Harry replied. "I'm thinking."

Draco snorted again as if trying not to laugh. "Alright Potter, but don't strain your brain while you are trying to think about whatever it is. You only have so many brain cells to use. What is it that has you so bothered this time?"

"It's none of your concern, Malfoy," Harry said as he slammed the book shut and threw it down on the desk.

Draco's eyebrows rose slightly, as if he was mildly impressed by the outburst from Harry. "Someone should warn Weasley and Granger about your temper. I ask a simple question and you bite my head off."

“You bring out the worst in me, Draco. And I think you enjoy it too much.” Harry smiled as he said that, his anger evaporating. He rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. “It's the dream I had last night, I can't stop thinking about it.” 

“They say thinking too much about your dreams is a sign of dementia."

"Don't you ever have nightmares?" Harry asked, suddenly curious about Draco's dreams.

“Yes, when I was a kid. I wore diapers once, too, but I grew out of both.” Draco leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “You called for me in your dream. Why?” 

"You were being held by the Death Eaters," Harry replied with little emotion in his voice. "Your father was dead, as were many others. Voldemort gave me a choice. I had to kill Ginny, or else I could kill you."

Draco crossed the room and sat on the edge of the desk, any slight bit of humor gone from his face. "Weasley or me? And what did you choose?" Draco asked while lowering his head to look more closely into Harry's eyes.

"I didn't," Harry lied, "the dream changed on me and before I knew it, I was at my parent's house, and Voldemort was there as well. I saw him kill them. I saw him…" Harry's words trailed off.

"Who, Potter? Who did you see?" Draco asked.

"Teddy," Harry said as he stared ahead, his eyes unfocused. He blinked and turned to look up at Draco. Their faces were close to touching once more. "I saw Teddy."

"Who is he?" Draco asked as he stood up from the desk, obviously disappointed in the answer.

"My godson," Harry answered. He got up and walked over to the Black family tree. "Lupin and Tonks' baby boy." 

Draco's face looked as if he had a vomit flavored Bertie Bott's Jelly Bean in his mouth. "You mean that were-" Draco started but changed his words when Harry looked at him, daring him to call Lupin a werewolf or some other slur. "You mean that Professor Lupin had a son?"

“He married your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks.” Harry reached up to touch one of the burned parts of the Black family tree. “She was the daughter of Ted Tonks, and your aunt, Andromeda Black.”

“She isn't my aunt," Draco said as he walked across the room and stood beside Harry. "Mother always said she had one sister, and that was Aunt Bella. My grandparents disowned Andromeda when she married that Muggle-born. If that weren't bad enough, her daughter had to bring one of Lupin's kind into the family. It's no wonder my mother was glad to be a Malfoy.”

Frustrated by Draco's lingering prejudice, Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "It's a shame that you can't be more open and understanding of members of your own family. Not everyone cares about pureblood status, like you apparently still do!" 

Harry walked to the door of the library before turning back to face Draco, who was rubbing his side. "I applaud Andromeda for getting away from your family. I can just imagine what it must have been like having to be the middle sister between your mother and Bellatrix."

 

“Watch what you say about my mother, Potter!” Draco spat, reaching for his wand. 

“Watch what I say?” Harry laughed. “Coming from you, that's rich. You show up at my door, tell me a sob story about needing a place to say, live under my roof, eat my food, and insult me every bloody chance you get.” He opened up the door of the library and turned back to face Draco, who was shuffling his feed and glaring at the carpet. “I think I'll go visit Andromeda today and see my godson. If you're still here when I get back, you had better have a different attitude, because if not, I'll drag you back to Malfoy Manor and Lucius can curse you, beat you, or do anything else he damn well pleases. I don't care anymore!” 

He slammed the door behind him and started toward his room, but before he was halfway there, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Draco wearing his best injured expression. 

“You can't mean that!” Draco pleaded. “I'll go with you--”

“I don't want you with me.”

“What if my Father comes looking for me and you're gone? Whatever happens, it'll be your fault.” 

Harry smiled wryly. “I think I can live with the guilt.”

Draco's eyes appeared to have doubled in size. “Look, you hate my sense of humor, fine. And we don't see eye-to-eye on politics, but we're friends! When you called for me this morning, I came running to help you—”  
“Oh? I thought you were running to put a silencing spell on me. Forgive me if I was a bit confused by the words that came directly out of your mouth.”

“Not even you can be that stupid, Potter!” Draco groaned. “You know why I came. I thought it was my father, and I thought the two of us together would stand a better chance than each of us alone.” 

“The two of us together,” Harry repeated. You are my rock. You have my soul. The words from the dream floated back to him, and he nodded. “Can you be civil to your aunt?”

“I know how to behave, Potter. Can you apparate us both there?”

Harry held out his arm for Draco to take and felt a pang as he recalled Dumbledore making the same gesture to him. “Hold on,” he warned Draco.


	17. The Uninvited Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are with Chapter 17. This chapter is a big departure from the mood of the last chapter, but 17 is very touching...so I hope that everyone who reads it will thoroughly enjoy it. Also, we are introduced to a new character, one that has a bit of a backstory to him that I think will really help the story later on.

Chapter 17: The Uninvited Guest

 

The disorientation that followed the apparition was accompanied by the painful grip of Draco’s hand on Harry’s arm. Once Harry had caught his breath and was reasonably sure he was not about to vomit, he peeled Draco’s fingers off his arm and checked to see that Draco appeared intact.

 

“You…nearly…splinched me!” Draco panted, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs. “It felt like something was trying to tear me apart. I thought you said you knew how to apparate!”

 

“I do. That’s why you’re still in one piece.”

 

“Barely,” Draco muttered, crossing his arms and rubbing his shoulders theatrically.

 

“Too bad your tongue wasn’t splinched. That would stop you from whinging.”

 

Harry turned to face the house and walked toward the front door. He could hear Draco following behind him, still mumbling something about gross incompetence and mortal peril. By the time they reached the door, Draco had quieted. The doorknocker was a silver serpent swallowing its own tail. Harry did not remember it from the last time he had visited Andromeda, but then that entire night was now a blur. His only concern after the narrow escape from Voldemort had been Hagrid’s injuries. That night, the protective charms around the Tonks family home had saved him, and he hoped that those same charms were protecting Teddy now.

 

He raised the silver serpent’s head, knocked several times, and stepped back to wait, steeling himself for the inevitable questions. What have you been doing? Why haven’t you visited Teddy? Harry still wasn’t sure what he would answer.

 

The door swung open. Upon seeing Harry, Andromeda burst into a grin, her soft brown eyes widening in surprise. “Harry! You’ve come to see your godson, I expect. He’s sleeping now, but I can…” She trailed off, and her face hardened as she looked over Harry’s shoulder. “What’s he doing here?” She pointed at Draco.

 

“I’m your nephew,” Draco explained. He moved onto the stoop with Harry and extended a hand toward Andromeda, flashing the same smile Harry had seen him use with the teachers at Hogwarts.

 

“I know who you are,” Andromeda said. Ignoring his extended hand, she called, “Accio, paper.” The current Daily Prophet materialized in her hand. She unrolled it and showed the front page to Harry and Draco.

 

The headline read, “Wanted for Murder,” and a picture of the Malfoy family appeared below it. Before Andromeda banished the paper, Harry was able to read a little of the article, which confirmed Draco’s story about standing trial eleven days from now. He also noted the byline: Rita Skeeter.

 

Draco scowled and opened his mouth, but Harry silenced him with an elbow to the ribs. Flashing his own smile at Andromeda, he said, “We all know what rubbish the Prophet prints, especially when it's Rita Skeeter and her damned magic quill. She's a liar.” 

 

“And Kinglsey Shacklebolt? Is he a liar, too?” Andromeda asked. “Because he's quoted as saying his sources have infiltrated the Death Eaters and brought to light the actions of the Malfoy family, including their involvement in the murder of Albus Dumbledore.” 

 

“That's according to Rita Skeeter!” Harry sighed. 

 

“Still.” Andromeda reached into her left sleeve with her right hand and pulled out her wand. “I won't have a Death Eater in the house with a child. I cannot begin to fathom your purpose in bringing him here--” 

 

“Draco is my friend--” Harry began, but Draco interrupted him by shouldering him aside. 

Moving slowly, his eyes focused nervously on the tip of Andromeda's wand, Draco raised his left arm and let the sleeve of his robe fall back, exposing the Dark Mark. “Look. It's fading now. In a year, you might not even be able to see it. I'm not a Death Eater, anymore than I'm a murderer. Harry can vouch for me. He saw Snape kill Dumbledore, and he's going to speak for me at the trial.” 

 

Harry nodded agreement. Andromeda looked from Draco to Harry and back before slowly lowering her wand. She stepped back and gestured for them to follow her into the house. 

 

Andromeda's parlor looked like one of the impossibly neat rooms on a Muggle television program. The books on the shelf stood like soldiers at attention, and a glance showed Harry that they had been shelved alphabetically. Sunlight filtered through the white, lacy curtains in the window, nourishing a Screechsnap plant and two pots of white blooming dittany. A wooden hutch with glass doors held matching sets of cups and saucers on one shelf and precise stacks of dishes on another. The wood gleamed in the absence of dust, and the air smelled faintly of lemon and lavender. 

 

“She knows how to keep house,” Draco commented to Harry. “Your Kreacher could take a lesson.” 

 

When Andromeda turned to face them, she had an odd half-smile on her face, and her eyes swept back and forth between Draco and Harry. Unable to read her expression, Harry glanced at Draco, who returned his look of puzzlement with a shrug. 

 

“Can I offer you tea?” Andromeda asked. 

 

Harry shook his head. “We won't be long. I only wanted to see that you and Teddy are well. I--”

 

“He had a bloody nightmare,” Draco interrupted. “Woke me up screaming. We're here because of a dream.” He snorted and shook his head, rolling his eyes. 

 

Andromeda frowned. “Dreams can have meaning. What was it you saw? Was Teddy in danger?” 

 

“It was just a dream.” Harry waved a hand dismissively, mentally cursing Draco. “It only reminded me that I haven't been a dutiful godfather.” 

 

“You've had other things to occupy your thoughts.” Andromeda smirked when she said that, and for a moment Harry wondered if she could read his mind, or if Ron had visited her. “Teddy is upstairs in the nursery. You can come see him, both of you.” 

 

They followed her up a narrow staircase and through the door of a bedroom. Like the rest of the house, the nursery was preternaturally clean, with cheerful blue walls and shelves lined with an array of toys. The polished wooden floors shone, and in the middle of the room, the bassinet stood in the center of a hand-woven rag rug.

 

Andromeda sat down in a rocking chair in the corner, and Harry moved to stand over the crib, watching Teddy sleep. The baby wore a soft blue jumpsuit that covered his feet but left his hands bare, and his tiny fingers were wrapped around a toy that looked like a shiny silver ball. Upon closer inspection, Harry decided that it must be a toy snitch, and he grinned, imagining Teddy growing up to play Seeker. Oblivious to his visitors, Teddy twitched in his sleep, his fingers contracting on the snitch and his eyelids fluttering. 

 

Harry leaned on the side of the bassinet, wondering what exactly he was supposed to do now. It seemed too soon to leave, but even if he wanted to wake Teddy, he had no idea what to do with him. What was one supposed to do with a baby, exactly? 

 

Draco studied Teddy for a moment then looked to Andromeda and said, “He looks more like Mother than he does you and Bella.” 

 

Andromeda flinched at the comparison and replied, “At the moment, yes.” 

 

“What do you mean 'at the moment'? He looks like he could be my younger brother.” Draco bent down again to peer at the child, who had begun to stir at the sound of voices. 

 

Teddy flung his arms, letting the toy fall from his hand. His mouth opened in an “o” of surprise, and his eyes, currently pale slate-blue, blinked up at Draco and Harry. He made a bleating sound, frowned, and proceeded to squirm, kicking his feet in the air, waving his small fists, and making more unintelligible noises. His mouth twisted into a scowl, and his eyebrows knit together. 

 

“Now he reminds me of you,” Harry quipped.

 

“Oh, shut it,” Draco growled. Teddy's noises were getting louder, and Draco wore a look of distress that truly did remind Harry of the baby. “How do we make him stop?” 

 

“I don't know!” Harry shrugged and glanced at Andromeda. 

 

“Entertain him,” Andromeda suggested. 

 

Draco reached into the crib, retrieved the snitch, and waved it back and forth in front of Teddy's face, eliciting more high-pitched protests and causing Teddy to turn red. 

 

“You're not helping,” Harry observed. 

 

“You think?” Draco shot Harry a look of pure venom. The snitch in his hand spread its wings, freed itself from his grasp, and began bobbing up and down in the air. Draco jumped to catch it, and it darted out of reach, whizzing in circles above his head. The Slytherin jumped, waving his arms in the air, chasing the tiny ball as it orbited the crib. When he managed to catch it, he closed his fist around it, squeezing vindictively. “Bloody stupid toy...” he began, but Harry silenced him by pointing down into the crib. 

 

Teddy was now smiling, and his cries had turned to soft coos that might have been the beginnings of laughter. He clapped his hands and beamed up at Draco. 

 

“You enjoyed that, did you? Let's see how you like it, then.” Draco bent down toward Teddy, placed his closed fist near the baby's chest, and quickly flattened his hand. Now free, the snitch danced around Teddy's head, staying just out of the baby's grasp. Teddy caught it by the wing and watched in fascination as it struggled to free itself. After a moment, he flung it away and then laughed with delight as Draco once again fumbled to capture it. This time, as Draco leaped and grabbed at the snitch, he stole frequent glances at Teddy's face. The more vigorously Draco chased the toy, the more Teddy laughed, and soon Draco himself was grinning broadly. 

 

Harry backed into the corner and stood next to Andromeda's rocker, partly because he was afraid that Draco would knock him over as he grappled with the snitch, and partly because he wanted a better of view of this surreal spectacle. 

 

“I've never seen him this happy before,” Harry murmured. 

 

“He was too young to smile or laugh the last time you saw him, Harry.”

 

Harry chuckled. “I meant Draco. Just before we came here we were fighting. He was being a complete git, and now... look at him.” 

 

Andromeda nodded without looking away from Draco and Teddy. She smiled, but her eyes were streaming, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of her robes. Draco had lifted the child in his hands and was moving the baby through the air, following the snitch. “This morning I believed my nephew was a murderer, just like his father. And now, look at me.” She snorted in self-deprecation and waved the handkerchief. “I'm proud of him, Harry. Thank you for bringing him here.” 

 

“You're welcome.” 

 

“I suppose you'll want to take Teddy now.” Andromeda sighed and wiped at her eyes again. “I always knew that when you found someone to help with him, this day would come. I've become so attached to Teddy, but Remus and Nymphadora bequeathed him to you.” 

 

“Take Teddy?” Harry repeated, frowning. “Bequeathed...” He frowned and shook his head. He had understood each individual word as it had come out of Andromeda's mouth, but strung together, her words made no sense. “Someone to...” He realized that he sounded a fool, but in his confusion, he could not articulate a proper question. 

 

“You and Draco,” Andromeda clarified. “The two of you could take him now that you're, ah, what's the polite way to say it when two wizards are, ah...”

 

“I wouldn't know!” Harry shook his head furiously. His face felt hot, and he was unable to meet Andromeda's eyes. “I'm not... That is, he's not... At least, I don't think... We're not...” 

 

“There's something wrong with him!” Draco called. 

 

Andromeda shot out of her chair, her conversation with Harry forgotten in an instant. In two long strides, she crossed the room to where Draco was still holding Teddy. The snitch hovered above their heads, ignored. 

 

“I didn't do anything to him!” Draco said, looking fearfully from Harry to Andromeda. “I swear! We were only playing and then...” He jerked his chin toward Teddy's head, which was now covered in a mat of pink curls. The baby's eyes had darkened to near black, and he fussed and squirmed in Draco's hands. 

 

After exchanging an amused glance with Harry, Andromeda took the baby from Draco and laid him back in his crib. “He gets that from his mother,” Andromeda explained. 

 

“He's a metamorphmagus,” Harry added. “When he's older, he'll be able to control it. It's a powerful gift.” 

 

“I know what a metamorphmagus is,” Draco barked, clearly irritated at looking foolish. “I just didn't know what they're like when they're babies, that's all. You could have warned me.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, truly meaning it; Teddy's metamorphosis had transformed Draco as well, turning him back into the same bitter, unpleasant twit who had sulked around Grimmauld place for the past three days. Harry had enjoyed watching Draco happy, and he wondered what, if anything, he could do to see that side of Draco again. 

 

“Yeah, well. As long as he's alright.” Draco shrugged, looking sheepish. 

 

“He's fine.” Andromeda raised her arm, and the silver snitch flew into her hand like a trained bird. She placed the toy back in the crib, and Teddy curled his fingers around it once more. 

 

“We should be leaving now, anyway,” Harry said. He didn't want to finish his conversation with Andromeda, and he felt a surge of panic when he considered the possibility that she might say something about it in front of Draco. Draco would go off like a Wild-fire Whiz-bang, embarrassing Harry and probably getting them both banned from Andromeda's house for life. 

 

“You'll be back soon, won't you?” Andromeda asked. 

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. 

 

Andromeda fixed Draco with a sad, intense stare when he failed to reply. 

 

Draco looked away from her and reached into Teddy's crib, letting the baby curl one pink hand around his index finger. “You saw the Prophet. I'm not exactly in a position to make promises, am I?” He pulled his hand back to his side and faced Andromeda. 

 

“I suppose not.” Crestfallen, Andromeda pivoted and walked out the door. 

 

Draco and Harry followed her down the stairs, where they said their goodbyes on the stoop. Andromeda embarrassed Draco with a fierce hug before closing the door. 

 

“I guess the kid's not so bad for a mud--” Draco began. Seeing Harry's face, he finished lamely, “I mean, he's not so bad. Neither is my aunt. Surprising, really, after all the things my parents said about her.” 

 

“No, she's not bad, for a Slytherin.” Harry began walking down the cobblestone path that lead away from the house. Andromeda's offer was still boiling in his brain, and he couldn't help but wonder what Draco would say if he knew what his aunt had thought about the two of them. If Draco were offended, Harry could blame it on a misunderstanding, and if he were intrigued... Harry shook his head to clear it of that line of thinking. Of course, Draco would hate the idea. Still, some impulse forced the words from his mouth. “Andromeda thought we were going to take Teddy.” 

 

“Take him where?” Draco asked. 

 

Harry stopped and turned to look at Draco, studying his face to look for any indication that he was deliberately baiting Harry and not just being inconveniently stupid. He found no such indication. “She thought that we were going to take him,” Harry repeated, speaking slowly and choosing his emphasis carefully.

 

“What, you mean kidnap him?” 

 

“No!” Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his hair. “She thought that you and I would raise him together. She thought we were a couple.” 

 

Draco's eyebrows shot up, and his flush was almost instantaneous. “You told her she was wrong, didn't you?” Harry nodded, and Draco continued, “And did you tell her she's bloody insane for even thinking it? Crazy old bat! What did you do to make her think that, Potter?” 

 

“I don't know, Malfoy. Maybe you gave her that impression when you told her I woke you up with my nightmare. Did you even think about how that sounded?” 

 

“If I had, do you think I would have said it?” Draco snorted. “Now my aunt thinks I'm a bloody queer because of your stupid dream.”

 

“At least she knows you're not a murderer.” 

 

“I'd rather she did think I was a murderer!” Draco kicked angrily at a loose cobblestone and glared over his shoulder at the house. “You told her I'm not some filthy deviant, didn't you?” 

 

“I corrected her,” Harry said wearily. He doubted Draco truly meant what he said about preferring to be known as a criminal, but he was tired of arguing.

 

“Good,” Draco nodded in satisfaction. “Now I suppose it's back home.” After a pause, he added, “Back to your home, I mean, not our home.” 

 

“Not yet. There's someone else I need to visit first.” He held out his arm for Draco to take so they could apparate. 

 

“Well, who is it?” Draco asked, taking a step backwards and folding his arms. 

 

Harry closed his eyes in frustration. He was tired of Draco's constant complaints, and if the Syltherin had anything unpleasant to say about Harry's intended destination, Harry feared that he might give into temptation and hex Draco with something nasty and permanent. “It doesn't matter. You can come with me or I can take you back to Malfoy Manor. Which shall it be?” 

 

“Did you even mean what you said to my aunt?” Draco asked. 

 

“About you not being a filthy deviant? Yeah, I said it with great conviction, now--”

 

“About me being your friend. I have the right to know where you're taking me. If you were my friend, you could tell me instead of threatening me.” 

 

Harry winced. “Fine. I'm going to visit Tonks and Lupin's graves. Now go ahead, tell me how much you hated him. Tell me how Tonks got what she deserved because her father was a mudblood and her husband was a werewolf--” 

 

“I wasn't going to--” Draco shook his head. “Everything I've said, everything I've done-- you love throwing it all in my face, don't you? Do you honestly think I'm glad Teddy's parents are dead?” 

 

“No,” Harry said quietly. 

 

“I can't change my past any more than Lupin could change being a werewolf, Potter. If you were really the bleeding-heart do-gooder you pretend to be, you'd understand that.” Draco's expression made him look like an injured puppy. 

 

Harry scowled down at the ground. He wanted to snap back with another insult, and he also wanted to apologize. He wanted to kiss Draco, or curse him, or punch him in the face. He didn't know what he wanted, but he wanted it badly, and that feeling drove him mad. He startled when Draco took hold of his wrist. 

 

“I'm ready. We can apparate to the graveside now.” Draco closed his eyes and stiffened his entire body, squeezing Harry's wrist like a lifeline.

 

Harry wrenched free of Draco and took his hand, lacing their fingers together, not because he needed a better grip but because it seemed more natural. He hadn't visited Lupin and Tonks' graves since their funeral, and it felt good to have someone with him now. 

 

“Draco...thank you.” 

 

If Draco replied, his words were lost in the agony of apparition.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

"Damn it, Potter! You really ought to take more apparition lessons," Draco said as he stumbled, nearly falling to the ground along with Harry, who was on his knees in the grass, still clutching Draco's hand. "That's twice now that I've nearly been splinched!"

 

"Get used to it. I'm not perfect like some people," Harry replied as he picked himself up from the ground and wiped his robes clean of the dirt. 

 

The apparition had brought the two young men to the edge of a small graveyard. The cemetery was surrounded by a low brick wall that had an old, iron gate at the center. A short distance away was the church, along with a single Muggle car that was parked beside it. 

 

The car door opened and closed with a distinctive metallic thud, and Harry turned to see the family that had just gotten out of the vehicle. Walking toward the cemetery gate were a man, a woman, and a young girl. The man had his left arm cradled around the shoulders of his wife, while the child held onto her mother's hand. The little girl was tugging anxiously and using her free hand to point to Draco and Harry. 

 

Draco snatched his hand out of Harry's and muttered a curse. “She must have seen you holding my hand, Potter. Congratulations-- once again you've humiliated me.” 

 

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “I doubt she cares about that. If she just saw the two of us pop into existence, she probably thinks we're ghosts.”

 

“And what exactly would be surprising about that?” 

 

Before Harry could explain, the family approached. Draco went rigid, his face frozen in an expression of distaste mingled with panic. 

 

“They're coming toward us!” Draco muttered. “What do we do?” 

 

"We act natural." Harry placed his hand upon the gate and pushed. The metal gave a slight rusty creak as the two entered the graveyard. Their shoes crunched on the loose gravel and pebbles that lined the footpaths around the graves. 

 

“Excuse me?” A woman's voice came from behind them.

 

Harry pivoted to face the Muggle family, and when Draco tried to continue walking away from them, Harry stopped him by briefly grabbing his sleeve. 

 

“My daughter...” The woman smiled apologetically and stroked the little girl's blonde hair. “She says that you appeared out of thin air. Perhaps if she hears from you that it isn't true...”

 

Harry exchanged a glance with Draco, who arched an eyebrow as if daring Harry to lie. 

 

“Out of thin air?” Harry chuckled, hoping his laugh did not sound as forced as it felt. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? Just like magic.” 

 

“How did you get here?” the father asked quietly. His eyes swept over Harry and Draco as if he were memorizing every detail of their faces and every stitch of their robes. 

 

“We live close enough that we don't need a car to get here,” Harry replied. 

 

“You see?” The mother beamed at her husband and daughter. “They walked.” 

The family began walking and turned onto another branch of the cobblestone path, but both the man and the girl glanced back over their shoulders. 

 

“Mommy, are they angels?” the little girl asked. 

 

“No!” the mother answered. “Sweetie, they are just like us, two young souls who’ve come to pay their respects. Besides, angels don't have glasses.” The father did not reply, though he looked over his shoulder again and shrugged.

 

Harry started toward the back of the cemetery but Draco didn't budge. He frowned as he watched the Muggle family make their way to a tombstone and stop.

 

“You didn't tell her parents that she was telling the truth,” Draco said. “Why?”

 

Harry stopped and turned to face Draco. “I couldn't. You know that, or you would have chimed in and explained for me.” 

 

“Do you think she'll be in trouble for lying, then?” Draco rubbed at the back of his left hand, where the ghost of his father's silver cane still lingered. 

 

Harry shook his head. “No. He's a good man, I think. And he may have seen us, too.” 

 

The little girl knelt, reached into her dress pocket, and pulled out something small, which she laid in front of the tombstone. It was hard to tell from this distance, but Harry thought the object was a teddy bear. 

 

“They're so much like us, aren't they?” Draco blurted. “Muggles, I mean. Look at them, just like my Mother taking me to visit my grandparents' graves.” 

 

“And what did you think they were like?” Harry started down the path again, and this time Draco kept pace with him. 

 

“Savages. Animals. I don't know. Oh, don't look at me that way. Don't you dare! They think the same way about us. They say we eat children and go around turning Muggles into toads. I remember that much from Muggle studies.”

 

“And they're wrong,” Harry said softly. 

 

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “They don't know any better.” He craned his neck and studied the Muggles. “I suppose we'll have to come here with Teddy, to show him where his parents are buried.”

 

Harry nearly tripped on a cobblestone. He replayed Draco's last sentence in his mind several times, wondering if he had misheard it. After Draco's near-tantrum over the idea of being with Harry, he couldn't mean... No, Harry decided. Draco wasn't subtle enough to try to convey something so important via a simple choice of words. Harry wondered what would happen if he tried to take Draco's hand, but decided that would only result in another outburst. Instead, he said, “That would be good.” 

 

"Do you know which one is theirs?" Draco asked, gesturing to the array of granite slabs.

 

"It's in the back," Harry replied without breaking stride. "I remember from their funeral." They continued in silence for another minute before Harry abruptly stopped, causing Draco to walk into the back of him.

 

"Potter, watch where you’re walking!"

 

Harry ignored Draco's outburst and instead looked down at the tombstone. "This is the one." He knelt in front of the polished marble. The gravel was cold, and the tiny stones dug into his knees through the fabric of his robes, but he didn't mind. Here, surrounded by the dead, each sensation came as an affirmation of life.

 

Draco walked around Harry, squatted down beside him, and read the names from the tombstone. "Remus John Lupin, and Nymphadora Lupin. Forever in our hearts." 

 

Devoid of its usual vitriol, Draco's voice sounded flat as he read the inscriptions. "I never liked Professoor Lupin," Draco continued in the same hushed, emotionless voice. "And I never knew my cousin, but they were your friends…" He sighed deeply and drew his wand from his pocket. A small flick of the wand and two white iris flowers appeared at the bottom of the marker, their stems crossed with one another. Draco pocketed his wand and stood up beside Harry.

 

Harry sniffled as he fought back tears. "Thank you, Draco." 

 

Draco stared down at the two white flowers and nodded his head. "It doesn't feel right, my being here."

 

"It's fine," Harry argued.

 

"No, it isn't. I fought on the other side in the war that killed them, remember?"

 

"That doesn't matter now. The war is over."

 

Draco shook his head. "All the same…I'll walk over to that bench, alright?"

 

Harry could not find his voice to answer, but simply nodded his head in agreement. The truth was that he wanted Draco there beside him, but he knew that at this moment he needed to be alone to speak to Remus and Tonks. When Draco's footsteps had faded, he placed a hand on Remus's marker.

 

"Hello, Remus. Hello, Tonks," Harry hoarsely whispered. "I am so sorry that this happened to you. I know that if you were here you would tell me not to blame myself, but I can't help feeling so guilty. I am trying very hard to move on, as I know you would tell me to do. 

 

Teddy-- I'm also sorry for not being a great godfather to Teddy. Well, not until today, that is. Things are on the up and up though, as he has another person that cares about him." Harry smiled as he turned his head to look at Draco sitting on the bench. Draco was watching the Muggle family return to their car, and did not seem to notice Harry studying him. "I suppose I don't have to tell you who it is. Dumbledore said that he trusted him, and I do as well. You should have seen the smile on his face today when he was playing with Teddy. It was so natural, and it really made Draco look like a different person. It's almost as if I was seeing who he's supposed to be, or maybe who he is under all of that--” he closed his eyes, searching for a word. After a moment, Harry gave up and went on.

 

"Tonks, I know you'll understand this, maybe better than anyone. It's Draco--I--I love him. I know all of the reasons we shouldn’t be together--they don't matter to me, but they do to him, at least at the moment. Maybe one day Draco can see through those. I hope that you and Remus are alright with him and Teddy, because I'm coming back here with both of them someday, and I want it to be as a family."

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Draco sat down on the bench and watched as Harry knelt there, speaking too softly for Draco to make out individual words. All he could hear from this distance was the rise and fall of Harry's voice, but even from that, he could sense the grief and sincerity.

 

"Is death always like this?" Draco whispered to himself. 

 

It dawned on him that he had never visited Crabbe's grave; in fact, he had never even thought about it. Crabbe had shown himself to be irredeemable at the end, torturing students with the Cruciatus curse and trying to kill Potter and his friends. Still, until seventh year, he had been someone to talk to. Draco envisioned himself visiting Crabbe's resting place and leaving a tray of puddings, but he knew he would never follow through on the idea. If he had anything to say to Crabbe, it would be that he had deserved what he got. The saddest part of it all was not that Crabbe had died trying to kill Harry, but that he had become a would-be murderer. 

 

The truth of the matter was that Draco Malfoy had been unaccustomed to death, or at least unaccustomed to the aftermath of it. He had witnessed the murder of Charity Burbage, but he hadn't had to watch her husband and children sobbing over her body. He had never thought about what it would be like to go on without someone who mattered. What would it be like if he lost his mother? If he lost Harry? Being around something as powerful as loss was uncomfortable, and he hated this feeling. Even in the middle of the daylight, he felt a cold shadow that seemed to creep up on him as he sat there. Part of him wanted to go to Harry, grab his hand, and apparate out of here, but he knew that he could not do that. They had come here for a reason, and he would have to deal with this icy feeling inside of him until they left.

 

The sound of gravel being stepped on reached Draco, but he paid it no attention, as he thought that it was another Muggle family coming to pay their respects to a departed loved one. Only when he saw someone walk toward Harry did Draco realize his mistake. In spite of the warm weather, the man wore a long black duster that was split down the back, and at first Draco thought he was a wizard. However, the floppy, narrow brimmed cloth hat that the man wore was so ridiculous it could only be a Muggle artifact. The stranger continued toward Harry with a purposefulness that made Draco uneasy. Perhaps some of Professor Carrow's stories were true, and this was one of the Muggles who hunted witches and wizards.

 

"Potter, behind you!" Draco yelled as he leapt from the bench, his wand aimed at the stranger who stood behind Harry.

 

"What? Draco, no!" Harry said as he grabbed Draco's forearm, stopping him from cursing the person. "Are you insane? You'll get us both sent to Azkaban!"

 

"Hey, whoa, easy there!" The man said while stepping back away from Harry and Draco. "Put your wand down. I'm not here to hurt anyone!"

 

The stranger smiled broadly and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. The brim of that insane hat flopped down over his forehead, shading his eyes and making it hard to read his face. From the little Draco could see, the man looked young-- older than Draco, but not nearly as old as his father. He guessed that perhaps he was in his early thirties. Unruly strands of sandy brown hair poked out from underneath the hat, brushing the collar of a black shirt much like those that Harry wore around the house. He wore the same kind of pants as Harry, too, but these were darker and belted with a black leather strap that had a shiny square buckle. His shoes were white, or would have been if they were not filthy, and they tied with laces.

 

"How do you know this is a wand?" Draco asked.

 

"What else would it be? A stick? Now, can we start over again, this time without the theatrics?" The man reached up and removed the hat, letting it fall back behind his neck, held by a string with a wooden bead. He had soft, light hazel eyes framed by the very beginnings of age lines, and he met Draco's eyes, then Harry's, with his steady gaze. 

 

Draco nodded and lowered his wand.

 

"Harry, Remus was like a father to me," the stranger continued. "As a matter of fact you can say that he was my father. He helped to guide me when others would not." He extended a hand toward Harry. "My name is Janus." 

 

"How do you know Remus, and how do you know my name?" Harry asked while shaking the hand.

 

Janus smiled. “Who doesn’t know Harry Potter? You are ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and all of the other ridiculous nicknames that the Daily Prophet had branded you with. As for Remus, well, that’s a long story that I will tell you one day."

 

"Your accent, is it American?" Harry asked.

 

Janus chuckled at Harry's question. "Correct again, Harry. I see Remus did not have time to tell you everything." He noticed the surprised expression on Harry's face. "What? Didn't you expect that there would be witches and wizards in America as well?"

 

"Err. No, actually I never thought about that," Harry replied.

 

"Yes, well we may not be as prevalent as you are here in Europe, but we do exist over there, and we have been in contact with our cousins here about Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

 

Draco made a sound as if loudly clearing his throat. Janus looked over Harry's shoulder at him. "I'm sorry, but when someone points their wand at me, I am a bit hesitant to shake their hand."

 

"When someone sneaks up on my friend from behind, I don't trust him," Draco replied.

 

"Hmm, a feisty one. With a temper like that, you should be a ginger," Janus said, chuckling.

 

"How dare you-" Draco started before Harry grabbed him.

 

"Calm down," Harry said quietly before turning back to face Janus. "It's alright, he's with me." 

 

"Of course it's alright. There's nothing more natural than seeing a Slytherin and a Gryffindor together in the middle of a Muggle graveyard. So, let's see here. Blond hair, blue eyes, and a pissed off expression on your face-- you have to be the one and only Draco Malfoy."

 

"Alright that's it, how the hell do you know so much about us?" Draco said as he stepped between Harry and Janus. "And don't say it’s because of Lupin! You are some kind of Death Eater that my father has sent here, aren't you?"

 

Janus stepped back, creating more space between himself and Draco. Slowly, he pushed the sleeve up on his duster, exposing his left arm. "A Death Eater? No, not quite. You won't find a Dark Mark on this arm." An edge had crept into his voice, one that Draco didn't like. "Besides, with your name and picture splattered all over the news, it’s not hard to recognize you."

 

"I'm sorry, he didn't mean to accuse you…" Harry began, but Janus interrupted him.

 

"It's alright. I should have been more careful. I wasn't sure I'd find you here, much less with him. The truth, Harry, is that before the battle of Hogwarts, Remus visited me. It was a brief visit, but he asked me to keep an eye on you should anything happen to him and Tonks. I figured that eventually you would come here so I set up an alarm that would detect if any wizards apparated to this graveyard. As I said earlier, there is much to tell you that Remus was unable to."

 

“So tell us,” Draco snarled. “I don't enjoy riddles.”

 

Janus shook his head. “Not both of you, just Harry. Remus never mentioned you other than to say that scumbag Lucius had a son.”

 

“Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of Draco,” Harry said hastily, closing his hand on Draco's wrist even as Draco began to raise his wand again. 

 

“Just as long as you're there to hold him back every time he decides to curse me?” Janus raised his eyebrows as he glanced down at Draco's wand. “We can't talk here, anyway, not out in the open like this. I'll come find you soon.”

 

Janus placed a hand upon Harry's shoulder. "Dumbledore would be proud of you, as would your parents, and I know Remus and Tonks would be damn proud of you, too. Don't worry, Harry we are here to make sure that you stay safe."

 

"We? What do you mean by we? Are you a member of the Order?" Harry asked.

 

"No, but that's another story for a different day, my friend," Janus said as he apparated out of sight, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the graveyard.

 

"If he wasn't a Death Eater, and he wasn't a member of the Order, then who the hell was that?" Draco asked.

 

Harry stood there silently, shaking his head. "I've no idea."

 

"Whoever he is, I don’t trust him, and I don’t feel like hanging around here any longer." Draco pocketed his wand and clasped Harry’s hand, positioning his thumb so that he could feel the pulse in Harry’s wrist. It felt good to hold onto someone who was warm and alive, even if it was only for the few seconds before they apparated. “Take us home now, and try to keep me in one piece.”

 

Harry did not respond but instead continued to stare at the empty space Janus had occupied. When Draco nudged him with an elbow, he snapped out of his reverie. Moments later, after a somewhat less unpleasant apparition trip, they both stood before the door of the library inside Grimmauld Place.

 

Harry opened the door and immediately drew his wand. Draco drew his as well and moved to stand beside Harry in the doorway. He expected to see Janus grinning at them from under that stupid hat, but as it turned out, their uninvited guest was someone even more unwelcome. He sat in one of the chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed casually, and his wand resting across his knees. In his left hand, he held one of Harry's crystal glasses filled to the brim with firewhiskey. He smiled and raised the glass in a mock toast. 

 

“Harry!” he intoned, his eyebrows knitting in exaggerated disapproval. “Pointing a wand is hardly a way to greet a guest. And Draco-- have you nothing to say to your father?”


	18. What You Are Made Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more to everyone who is reading this story. Here is the next chapter, and it picks up right where 17 ended. So I hope that all of the readers enjoy this little chapter.

Chapter 18: What You Are Made Of

 

“Explain yourself immediately.” Harry took a step toward Lucius and adjusted his wand so that it pointed at the Death Eater's heart.

"Really, Mr. Potter! Do you Gryffindors even recognize the concept of civility?" Lucius said as he sipped the firewhiskey from the crystal glass. "Tisk, tisk, did they not teach you how to greet a fellow wizard in your home?" He wagged a finger disapprovingly at Harry and Draco.

"Not when that certain wizard is a Death Eater," Harry exclaimed as he tightened his grip on the wand.

Lucius smiled, his lips peeling back from his teeth and reminding Harry of a dog growling over some tasty morsel. "You needn't worry about that, Mr. Potter, as I have come not to fight, but simply to chat with you, and to see about Draco. After all, it is my son's first extended stay away from home, other than his time at school." 

Lucius emptied the glass and pointed toward the two chairs in front of the desk. "Please, sit. However, first we will act like proper gentleman. Lower your wands." 

Harry considered casting Expelliarmus, but if Lucius were to deflect the spell, there would be no way to avoid a fight. Worse, Harry might never have a chance to find out what Lucius was planning. For now, he decided to hold his fire, although he shook his head, refusing Lucius' request. 

Under Lucius' intense gaze, Draco began to wilt. His eyes lowered, his shoulders slumped, and finally his arm began to sag. "Draco!" Harry hissed as Draco's arm fell flat against his side. He did not respond, but instead reached over and yanked Harry's wand out of his hand before the Gryffindor could react. 

"Very good, Draco," Lucius said in mock pleasure as he leaned forward in the chair. "Now bring them here and place them on the desk." He patted the corner of the desk with his gloved hand. Draco slowly walked to the desk and placed the wands on the corner. 

"You always have to do what Father says, don't you?" Harry said angrily as he elbowed Draco out of the way and sat down in the chair closest to the wands. 

“Shut it, Potter!” Draco snarled as he sat down in the other chair beside Harry.

Lucius lightly chuckled as he picked the wand up from his knee and placed it on the desk along with his silver-tipped cane. "Now we are equals."

A tense silence followed as the only noise in the room was the sound of the clock ticking. Lucius Malfoy sat with his fingers laced together, his thumbs supporting his chin as he watched Harry and Draco in front of him. Harry continually shifted his glance between Draco and Lucius as he sat in the chair, while Draco sat with his arms crossed, brooding. 

Lucius quickly surveyed his son before turning his attention to Harry. "So, Mr. Potter shall we tend to business?" Lucius asked, breaking the silence and starting the conversation.

Harry glanced at Draco, hoping that he would say something. Seeing that Draco would be of no help at the moment, Harry exhaled deeply and focused on Lucius. "Alright, let's. First, how did you manage to get into my house?"

Lucius again faintly smiled at Harry. "To answer that question you need to speak to your house elf."

"What, Kreacher?" 

A small pop echoed in the room as Kreacher spun into view beside the desk. Kreacher bowed to Harry as if ignoring the presence of Lucius Malfoy. "Master Harry has returned from his visits. What may Kreacher do for Master Harry?"

"Kreacher, how did Lucius Malfoy get into this house?"

Kreacher gazed at Harry with his large, green eyes before turning to look up at Lucius, as if silently asking for permission.

"Go on, house elf, tell him,” Lucius said as he casually waved his hand.

"Master Harry musn't be angry with Kreacher! Kreacher was told that Master Harry and Master Draco would not be harmed."

"Kreacher, how can you believe a word this man says?" Harry asked as he pointed his finger across the desk, not seeing how close his hand was to the wands.

"Kreacher is sorry, but…" Kreacher began before he hugged the leg of the desk and began pounding his head against it.

"What the house elf meant is that he now serves the Malfoy family," Lucius said finishing the statement for Kreacher.

"What?" Harry asked rising out of the chair.

Lucius did not move in his chair, but simply stared at Harry with his cold blue eyes and subtly motioned for Harry to sit down once more. "Yes, since you cost me a house elf once before, I did what was only right by claiming this one, such as it is," Lucius said as he extended his hand down toward Kreacher, who had finished banging his head against the leg of the desk and now looked up at Harry with tear-stained eyes.

"Hermione was wrong about you!" Harry spat, glaring at Kreacher. "I've treated you like a human being and this is how you repay me?"

Kreacher’s only reply was a low moaning sound. Sitting on the floor, he curled his arms around his knees and began to rock back and forth.

"I simply offered him what you cannot, Mr. Potter. How can a house elf say no to a chance to once again serve a pureblood family? Once he had agreed, I performed the requisite spells for the transfer of ownership myself." Lucius began to refill the crystal glass with firewhiskey. When he had finished, he raised the glass in a salute that included Kreacher and Draco.

Kreacher let out another, louder moan and began muttering as he rocked on the floor. "Master Malfoy said he needed to see Master Draco, said it was for Master Draco's own good, said the boy needs his father, needs to listen to his father. And who is Kreacher to meddle in wizard families? Master Lucius told Kreacher that Master Harry would not be harmed--"

"Enough!" Harry shouted. "I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses." He raised his eyes to look at Lucius. "And just how did you get into here?"

"Oh, that! It was very simple, again thanks to your former house elf. I had him brought to Malfoy Manor, where I offered him the opportunity that I spoke of moments ago. He said that the two of you had gone out, but that you would return. Therefore, I insisted on coming here to wait upon your arrival. The house elf was generous enough to bring me this bottle of firewhiskey to help pass the time along while the both of you were away."

Harry smirked as Lucius drank from the glass. "So that is what this is all about? Trying to best me by stealing my house elf just because you were stupid enough to lose Dobby five years ago?"

Lucius paused as he listened to Harry's words while holding the glass to his lips. Slowly, he brought the glass down and tossed it aside, shattering the crystal on the floor. "That, Harry Potter, was a childish trick of yours that cost me my servant."

This time, Harry smiled at Lucius. "You're right; I did it on purpose because you deserved it."

"Your moment is short lived, Mr. Potter. Do not forget that it was this house elf,” Lucius said as he pointed down at Kreacher, "that informed the Death Eaters of certain information regarding the Order of the Phoenix." 

Harry looked down at Kreacher as he remembered the truth to Lucius Malfoy's stinging words. "Well, goodbye, Kreacher, I hope you enjoy being tortured and punished every day as you serve him."

"The house elf has made his choice, Mr. Potter. His allegiance is to me, now."

“You didn’t answer my question,” Harry started. “Is that your grand scheme-- to steal a house elf? I would have thought that someone like you would have a more devious plan.”

Lucius leaned forward onto the desk and glared at Harry. “Oh, you are so wrong, Harry Potter, stealing your house elf is a minor victory. Yes, I do have much more important ambitions.”

“Like what? Going to the Ministry and kissing Shacklebolt’s arse so that he doesn’t throw you in Azkaban? Or do you still think you can bully the Ministry by calling yourself a dark wizard?” 

“I see that you still cannot grasp the big picture, Potter. You only see what your narrow mind focuses on.” He eased his back against the chair in a relaxed manner while leaving his hands folded and resting upon the desk. “The main purpose for my being here is because I have a proposition for you. As you are well aware, the Malfoy name has fallen upon difficult times since the Dark Lord’s defeat. It does not carry the same meaning as it once did.” 

Lucius got up from the chair and walked over to the wall where the Black family tree was located. “Now, I normally would blame you for placing our family name in this position, but I am not going to. It is a new world now, one filled with fresh opportunities and unlimited possibilities. No longer do wizards cower in fear because of a dark power.”

He walked back to the desk and stood beside Harry, letting his fingertips brush Harry's shoulder. “I offer you, Harry Potter, a chance to be a part of that new world, and to have a fresh start on your life. We needn’t be enemies any longer. Yet, who would know and understand a fellow wizard more clearly than one who was formerly his nemesis?”

Lucius slowly walked back around to the desk and sat back down. He gazed at Harry’s eyes as they stared down upon the wands. “You want that don’t you? You feel protected by its touch within your fingers?”

Harry remained silent. “Pick it up,” Lucius said as he motioned toward the wand. “Take it in your hand and regain that confidence. Allow yourself to have that advantage over me.”

Without thinking, Harry grabbed the wand and pointed it at Lucius. The elder Malfoy wryly smiled, “You still have not fully listened to my entire offer.”

“Potter!" Draco spoke up causing Harry to jump in his chair. “For Merlin’s sake, don’t be so thick! Listen to him.”

“What?” Harry asked as he cut his eyes toward Draco. “After everything that you told me about Lucius, now you want me to listen to him?”

“Potter, please just do it. Father is right. Think about the last few days here. Who would have ever thought that we would ever be able to be in the same room without trying to kill each other? After everything he's done, he's still my father. If you can understand that, you'll listen to what he has to say.” Draco said as he turned to look at Harry, and then to Lucius.

“Correct, Draco. Listen to what he is saying to you, Mr. Potter. You see, my ultimate goal is to restore the Malfoy family name to its prominence. However, to do that in this new world, we are going to need assistance. That certain assistance will not come from the Ministry. You, Harry Potter, can become so much more than ‘The Boy Who Lived’. You can escape those shadows and create a new legacy, an even more powerful legacy within the Wizarding World. Give yourself and your friends a new life. Help them to defeat their poverty. My proposal is that together we form an alliance, and together we will restore our names within the Wizarding World, thus shedding our pasts and all of that which was associated with the Dark Lord. No matter what you may think of me, I am not a monster. I merely worked for one." 

Still pointing his wand, Harry sat silently, contemplating everything. Lucius sank back into the chair with a large grin upon his face, fully confident in what Harry would next say. 

“Harry, please,” Draco whispered as he pleadingly looked into Harry’s eyes with his own blue-grey ones. Harry found his gaze drifting down and looking at Draco’s hand. He knew that he wanted to hold that hand right now, and then his answer came to him.

“Tell me, Lucius,” Harry started, “if I were to accept your offer, would you beat me with your cane or curse me with an Unforgivable if I disagreed with something that you said or ordered? That’s not an alliance; it’s a dictatorship, just like with Voldemort.”

"So Draco has been telling stories, has he?" Lucius smiled, but his eyebrows drew together, and he fixed Draco with a baleful stare. "And what reasons do you have to believe anything that my son tells you?"

Harry glanced at Draco, hoping for some show of defiance, but the younger Malfoy seemed to have shrunk into himself. His head drooped downwards, and he stared at his own hands, his eyes unfocused.

"I trust Draco," Harry said. "He's a friend."

"Is he really?" Lucius sneered. "Or is he simply following my orders, telling you what he believes will make you sympathetic? Make no mistake, Potter, Draco has nothing for you. I am the one offering you the means to power--"

“You and your offer can sod off, Lucius. You can't give me what I want." Harry glanced at Draco before continuing. "I will never join you or accept any offer that you make, because I have seen what you are made of. You are a weak man who rides the coat tails of other wizards and uses their power to help increase your own gain!” 

The grin on Lucius face quickly eroded into a snarl. “Very well, Harry Potter. Now you will see just how weak of a wizard I can be." He stood, snatched up his wand, and extended a hand toward Draco as if expecting him to take it. "Come, Draco. Our business here is all but finished."

Draco hesitated, glancing from Harry to Lucius before looking down at the floor.

"He won't go with you," Harry scoffed. "I'm the one who can protect him from Azkaban, not you. He's done with you!"

"How like an orphan mongrel to underestimate the bonds within a pure blood family. Draco's loyalty is to me. I am his family!"

"No." Harry shook his head and felt his mouth curve into a soft smile. "I've seen who he really is. He showed me that today."

"Really? Well, then let him speak for himself." Lucius pocketed his wand, took up his cane, and put his weight on it as he leaned toward Draco. "Just where did you and Potter go today?"

Draco's eyes darted from Lucius to Harry, and then back to Lucius. "We were out. Potter wanted to go and visit a cemetery," Draco replied in a flat voice.

"A most interesting place to visit. I see that you still like to keep in close touch with the dead, Potter. Whose grave did you visit? Dumbledore's?" 

"No, Father. Remus Lupin’s." 

"Ah, the werewolf. And why, Draco, did you go and visit a teacher that you loathed at Hogwarts, someone whom we fought against?"

Once more Draco cautiously looked at Harry before answering. "It was Potter, Father. He forced me to go." 

Lucius looked across the desk into Draco's eyes, as if reading his mind. "How? Do you honestly mean to tell me that Harry Potter held you against your will? You, a Slytherin were held captive by a Gryffindor?" 

"No! Of course not." Draco snorted. "But I had to go along with him in order to follow your orders. You told me to get close to Harry Potter, and so I had to follow him."

"Ah." Lucius' mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. "And would you say that you have shown Mr. Potter who you really are?" His tone rose at the end, as if he were imitating a young girl.

When Draco answered Lucius, his eyes were locked on Harry's face. "No. He has yet to see who I really am."

"Very good," Lucius said as he stopped leaning on his cane and stood at his full height. Harry moved as if to get up from the chair but was interrupted by Lucius pointing his wand into Harry's face. "If you value your life, Potter, you had better refrain from casting any kind of spell," Lucius snarled.

"Master Malfoy said that he would not harm either…" Kreacher began, but he was kicked into the corner by Lucius.

"Ignorant, despicable house elf," Lucius said as his upper lip sneered. 

Harry shot to his feet and aimed his wand, taking advantage of Lucius' momentary distraction. When Lucius turned back to face Harry, he found himself staring down the shaft of Harry's wand.

"Well done, Potter! Now, do you have it in you to kill a man? Do you have the darkness within your soul to say those two little words?" Lucius asked as he walked around the desk and stood in the middle of the library. 

"I can say it, Lucius, especially if it means killing you," Harry replied as he walked toward the middle of the room, positioning himself into a dueling stance.

"But can you kill someone whom you just recently have called your friend? Can you use magic against someone who stood beside you at your teacher's graveside? Draco, come here." 

Draco walked to the desk, picked up his wand and moved to the center of the room, standing just outside of what would become the line of fire as soon as Harry or Lucius made a move. "Take your wand, son, and point it at Potter. If he attacks me, then you must kill him."

"But, Father I--" Draco started.

"Draco! Potter is nothing to us. What does it matter if a mudblood lives or dies? Or has the Gryffindor weakness infected you by association? You will do as I say!" Lucius shouted causing Draco to flinch and turn his attention toward Harry. 

"Yes, Father," Draco replied solemnly and pointed his wand directly at Harry. 

"Draco, no!" Harry shouted as he quickly glanced at the Slytherin while holding his wand toward Lucius Malfoy.

"You see, Potter, what we have here is Slytherin deviousness versus Gryffindor stubbornness. I sent my son here to strike at the weakness that every Gryffindor wears like a badge of honor--your belief in friendship and loyalty. Once we had used your friendship to our advantage, your end would have been the same--death by my hand." 

"Same old story, Draco? Father knows best and the son follows blindly," Harry said as he glanced over at Draco.

"Don't think that you can begin to understand me, Potter!" Draco yelled.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. When your father misses me with his curse, I will not be forgiving in which curse I place upon you. I trusted you. I believed everything that you said, all of your stories and half-truths, and you betrayed me!" 

"Sometimes, Potter, a half truth is a whole lie," Draco said as he pointed his wand away from Harry and aimed it directly at the heart of Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius' face hardened as he saw both wands pointing at him. “So, at last you've shown your true colors, Draco. So be it."

"This is the way it has to be, Father. This war has to come to an end."

"Perhaps, but you may want to consider one very important thing, Draco. What about your mother?" 

"You bastard! If you harm her I’ll--” Draco shouted.

"It is the way it has to be, son," Lucius interrupted. "If you side with Potter now, I will disinherit both you and your mother. Without my gold, Narcissa will dwindle away to nothing. She will spend the gold that she has left, and then she will be no better off than one of Potter's blood-traitor friends. Will you console her as she sells herself in Knockturn Alley?" 

"Potter!" Draco said through clenched teeth. 

"Shut up, Draco, he's bluffing! Besides, I can take care of you and Narcissa," Harry replied through gritted teeth of his own.

"I give you one final warning, Draco!" Lucius growled. "Stand down and I will give Potter a quick death. It's more than he deserves after spurning my offer of alliance."

Harry inched forward, closing the distance between himself and Lucius. He had decided upon which curse to use first. Behind Lucius, a small movement caught Harry's eye. 

"Kreacher, no!" Harry shouted.

Lucius turned around as the elf jumped at him, teeth bared. Kreacher landed on his right arm and bit into it vigorously. Lucius screamed in agony as the teeth sank into the flesh. He frantically shook his arm until Kreacher's grip loosened, thus sending the house elf flying through the air in the direction of Harry and Draco. 

"Avada Kedavra!" Lucius screamed, and the green light filled the room, just barely missing Draco and Harry, who dove in opposite directions. Kreacher landed against the wall with a sickening thud as Draco and Harry stood up.

"Get us out of here, Potter!" Draco screamed as he whirled around and saw the tip of Lucius' wand glowing green once more. 

Harry ran toward Draco. Time seemed to dilate, and he felt as if he were watching in slow motion. The tip of Lucius' wand swiveled to point at Draco, and his lips moved, forming the beginnings of a curse. Pointing his wand at Lucius, Draco held out his free hand toward Harry and closed his eyes as if in prayer. His chest expanded with a deep, strong breath, and he stood with his shoulders squared and his chin thrust out in defiance. 

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco shouted, and the room filled with a beautifully shaped mist. The patronus was a blur of scales and claws that flew through the air and collided with Lucius Malfoy, sending him flying against the wall and causing books to fall down on top of him.

Harry snatched Draco's outstretched hand, and they twisted out of sight.

\--------------------------------------------

Moments later, Lucius Malfoy regained consciousness. He carefully raised himself out of the pile of books, noting the pain in his back and neck from where he had collided with the wall. He brushed the dust off his robes and walked over to Kreacher’s body. 

With the tip of his boot, he rolled the corpse over and looked at the face of the dead house elf. "A Patronus," Lucius commented as he tightened the cloak around his neck and prepared to apparate back to Malfoy Manor. "Impressive, Draco."


	19. No Longer Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once more. Well, another chapter down, but plenty more to go. Coming off of the very tense emotions from chapter 18, this chapter is a little bit of a journey with bits of humor and drama while deepening Harry and Draco's relationship just a bit more. it was a lot of fun to write and I'm pleased with the final product. So I hope that everyone who reads it, enjoys it, and you all are more than welcome to leave feedback. There is some outstanding dialogue in here and a few moments that would make any wizard or witch blush.

Chapter 19: No Longer Safe

 

They materialized in a narrow alley, the residual force of the apparition causing the wizards to lose their grip on one another’s hands. Draco's back smashed into the stone wall with a hard thud, forcing him to slump to the ground in pain. Trying to fight the effects of the spinning motion that his body had been in, Harry stumbled backwards and fell over two aluminum trash cans. A loud screech filled Harry's ears, and something small and dark shot past his ankles with a hiss. Apparently, a black cat had been trying to find its evening dinner within one of the bins before Harry had interrupted it. 

"Bloody cat!" Harry said as he got to his feet, brushing chunks of used coffee grounds from the front of his robe. His hand touched something slimy, and he flicked away a piece of banana peel. He spotted Draco against the opposite wall and gently grabbed the Slytherin's elbow, helping him to his feet.

Draco rose slowly, lightly moaning, and rubbed theatrically at the back of his neck. "I told you, Potter, you needed more apparition lessons!" Draco hissed as he tugged his arm away from Harry's grip. 

"Yeah, well, between taking you everywhere and narrowly escaping your father's wrath, I haven't had much time to fit that into my schedule," Harry said. "The least you could do would be to say, ‘thank you for saving my life.' Again."

“And I thought you were tired of playing hero. Bloody Gryffindor,” Draco muttered, still catching his breath.

"What?" Harry asked stepping closer to Draco.

Draco rose up to his full height, and his next words came in a near shout. "I said where the hell are we?" 

Harry stopped before he got any closer. A piece of him wanted to take his fist and pound it into Draco's stomach for his attitude and ungratefulness, yet the monster inside of Harry backed away as quickly as it had roared, and Harry's rational aspect took control. He studied Draco carefully, forcing himself to note every detail of the Slytherin’s expression and posture. Draco’s eyes darted everywhere, perhaps in expectation of an attack, or maybe to seek an escape route. Noting all of this, Harry remembered what he had always unconsciously known about Draco; the Slytherin’s obnoxious bravado was his way of hiding the fact that he was scared, hurt, or both. 

"London. That's where we are." 

"London?" Draco asked, the pitch of his voice rising just as Lucius' voice had risen, and dripping with the same amount of contempt. "Why are we still in London? Couldn't you have taken us someplace else?"

"Look!" Harry said. "It was the first place that I thought of when your father tried to kill me in my own house! It's not like I had plenty of time to stand there and choose a nice plush home to apparate to."

"Alright then," Draco started, "what are we going to do? What are you going to do about Mother?" 

Harry's nostrils flared a bit as he turned away from Draco and looked at the street. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and slowly exhaled, trying to think clearly about what to do next. "Right now, we cannot do anything about Narcissa."

"Are you insane?! You heard what Father--"

"Look, Draco!" Harry said as he spun around and came face to face with Draco. "We are in no position to help your mother right now! Maybe you didn't notice it, but your father just tried to kill us both!"

Draco scoffed. "You’re mental, Potter! Father would never try to--" 

"Oh, no? Then I suppose what you saw was not a Killing Curse that was coming directly at the both of us?" Harry countered. "If it hadn’t been for Kreacher…"

Yet, Harry could not finish the rest of his words. He knew that Kreacher had sacrificed his life so that he and Draco could escape, just as Dobby had sacrificed himself for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. I should be crying now, Harry thought. I should be beating myself up because he died for me, and I should be raging at Lucius. Kreacher deserved at least some emotion, but Harry found himself numb, thinking only of where they would go next and how they would survive.

"Potter…Potter!" 

Harry failed to register the sound of Draco’s voice. He was lost in a morbid reverie, probing at his memories of Dobby. 

"Potter!" 

A sharp pain and a loud smack filled Harry’s ears, and suddenly the side of his face felt as if it were on fire. This brought Harry out of his brooding, and he instinctively reacted by pulling the wand from his back pocket and thrusting it into Draco's neck.

Draco griped Harry’s wrist, squeezing painfully. “Don’t point your bloody wand at me, Potter. You were staring into space like Loony Lovegood; I was only trying to bring you back to your senses.”

Reality flooded Harry's brain like a tidal wave crashing onto a beach. He shook off Draco’s hand and slowly lowered his wand while rubbing the side of his face with the back of his hand. "Alright, fine, but not so hard next time."

“Fine. I’ll practice until I have the proper amount of force.” 

“You would do that wouldn’t you?” Harry muttered as he slid his fingers over the side of his face. The sting of the blow had all but gone, and perversely, he wished it would have lasted longer. Even being hit was better than not being touched at all.

Draco turned in a circle, surveying the alley and wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Where do we go now?"

Once again, Harry walked over to the stone wall. He leaned his back against it for a moment, letting the cold surface comfort and soothe his skin and muscles while he closed his eyes and concentrated on answering Draco’s question. 

Half a minute later Harry’s green eyes greeted the world once more. "Well," Harry started, moving away from the wall and stepping over in front of Draco. "Grimmauld Place is compromised, so we can't go back there." 

"What about Andromeda?" Draco asked.

Harry thought for a moment before deciding. "No. I would not place her or Teddy in any kind of danger. We don't know what Lucius will do next." He saw Draco's lips beginning to form the next question, but answered before it could be asked. "Your mother survived--what?--twenty years with your father? I think she can handle him until the trial."

Draco did not argue with Harry this time, but instead stuffed his hands into his pockets, drooped his head down and proceeded to kick at a half-crushed can that lay upon the alley floor. Harry reached forward and lightly touched the tip of Draco's chin with his index finger, raising it up to look into those blue eyes.

"Hey, I promise you we will go and help her, but right now we must survive for a few days and regroup," Harry said softly.

Draco nodded his head. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

Harry exhaled, and turned his gaze toward the city street at the end of the alley. "Right now, we need to try and blend in with the Muggles, and lay low for a bit."

Draco's face looked as if he had eaten a year-old treacle tart. "I wouldn’t even know how to behave like a Muggle. I’d be like one of you lot coming to Hogwarts for the first time not knowing a damn thing. It’s so humiliating, so--"

"So beneath you?" Harry finished. "Look, whether you like it or not, Draco, that is the only option right now. I’m sorry if it doesn’t suit you, but we have no choice," Harry paused before continuing. "Or you could wave your wand, board the Knight Bus, and let it take you back home to your father, who I am sure would be waiting at the front door with open arms and Avada Kedavra."

"Alright, Potter," Draco wearily spoke, "That's enough already, I get the point. You sound worse than Mother when she’s scolding me."

"Really? I didn’t realize that you were ever scolded," Harry said as he smirked at Draco.

"Bloody Gryffindors! Always so damned cheeky," Draco said, as the corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment before going back down to their usual Malfoy surl. "So what do we do?"

Harry walked to the end of the alley and peered out at the world, studying it until he decided upon a plan. He turned and once more came face to face with Draco, who had walked up behind Harry while he was looking at the shops and street.

"Oh, sorry," Harry apologized as he turned and was almost lip to lip with Draco. "Last year, Ron, Hermione and I came to this same alley after the Death Eaters attacked The Burrow. As a matter of fact we changed clothes right..." Harry trailed off as he pointed to the area where he and Draco had apparated to. "Right, there."

“What made you think I needed to know that? Now I’m picturing you taking your clothes off in a filthy alley. Thanks for that, Potter.” Draco shook his head as if to clear it. “Do you remember anything useful?”

"Um. There is a café around the corner where we could get something to eat once we had some money. Look there!" Harry said pointing to a small shop window advertisement. "That shop takes gold."

"And?" Draco questioned.

"And we are going to sell some of our gold for Muggle money."

"Our gold?" Draco asked, his eyebrows rising up on his brow in defiance.

"Yes, our gold, specifically gold galleons," Harry emphasized. "I have a few in my pocket, along with a few Muggle pound notes in my wallet, but that won't be enough for us. I need some of your gold so that we can sell it."

"I don't have any galleons on me, Potter! What do I look like, a walking Gringots?" Draco replied as he stepped back away from Harry.

"Arguing about it won't get you anywhere. I know that you have it on you because I can hear it jingle a bit when you walk. It's the only way, unless you want to sell yourself on a street corner," Harry said as he pointed at the shop.

"You’re disgusting, Potter!” Draco replied, "Now I see where your mind is all of the time."

Harry smiled at the look on Draco's face. "Yeah, it's what all of us Gryffindors think about--seeing a Slytherin have to compromise himself. Now hand over some of your gold," Harry finished as he held out his hand.

Draco stood there mumbling to himself before he finally reached into his left inner robe pocket and extracted a dark green pouch that had a silver ribbon tied around the top. He untied the ribbon and emptied the contents of the pouch into Harry's hand. 

Harry had to place his hands together to cradle all of the gold galleons that slipped out of the pouch. He looked in amazement at the pile of galleons that lay in his hand. "Merlin's beard, Draco, how much do you keep in there?"

"Enough!" Draco huffed as he placed the empty pouch back into his pocket.

Harry stuffed the gold galleons into his front pocket, adding them to his few Wizarding coins that he had. "Alright, let's go do this, but whatever you do, let me do all of the talking." 

“Alright,” Draco said.

“And, don’t touch anything.” 

“Alright, Potter!” Draco grumbled. “You sound like my father!”

“And try to look inconspicuous,” Harry finished as they exited the alley.

“Potter!” Draco groaned, as he wheeled to face Harry and lowered his voice to a whisper. “We are two wizards, wearing black robes, and in the middle of Muggle London. Trying to be inconspicuous is going to be a bit futile at this point.” 

“All the same, keep your wand in your pocket, your mouth closed, and your hands to yourself.” 

Draco followed Harry across the street and stopped in front of the small shop. 

"McKnight's Buy, Sell, and Trade. London's Finest Used Emporium," Harry read as he looked through the glass windows and door.

"Why do they have bars over the windows?” Draco wondered aloud. “It looks like a prison cell." 

Harry looked at the bars as his mind fluttered back to when his Uncle Vernon placed bars over his bedroom window. He remembered the feeling of helplessness, and solitude.

"Potter?" Draco prompted.

"Huh?"

"Are we going in or are we going to stand here all day?" 

"Oh yeah, come on," Harry said as he placed his hand on the door handle, but unexpectedly the door opened toward the inside. A tall young man stepped out holding a small, glowing silver device in his hand.

"Hey guys," the young man said as he placed the Muggle thing to his ear and began talking to it.

Harry watched Draco gape at the youth as he walked down the sidewalk carrying on a conversation between himself and the object.

Draco grabbed Harry's arm before he could enter the shop. "What the hell was that thing, and who was he talking to? Idiot Muggle! There was nobody there walking beside him to speak with." 

Harry glanced down the street at the young man and then at Draco. "I thought you weren't interested in Muggle devices. Come on, let's go inside."

The two entered the store and were cheerfully greeted by the older man standing behind the counter.

"Welcome, lads, to McKnight's Emporium. We buy, sell, and trade. How can I help you two today?" 

Harry walked to the counter, but instead of following him, Draco traversed the perimeter of the store, letting his fingers trace over glass cases and frowning in puzzlement at some of the contents. An array of rings and watches failed to catch his interest, but he stopped to stare at an assortment of rectangular objects with colorful labels.

"Nin-ten-do," Draco read as he pieced the word together. 

"That's right, son," the shopkeeper said. "All Nintendo video games are on sale this week. You buy one and get the other for half price."

"What are they?" Draco asked.

"They're games, sort of like interactive moving photographs," Harry explained, recalling how Dudley had sat on the couch for hours, nearly catatonic save for his thumbs, which moved with surprising deftness on the controller.

Draco looked up as the light from inside the store reflected on something very shiny above their heads. Harry followed his gaze upwards to the row of guitars that were hanging from the side of the wall, remembering the Yule Ball and the instruments that The Weird Sisters had played that night. 

The shopkeeper leaned forward on the counter and frowned at Harry. "Your friend's never heard of a video game?"

"He had a deprived childhood," Harry explained, smiling as he watched Draco continue his explorations.

"Probably better off for it. Those blasted video games will ruin brain cells." The shopkeeper grunted, "Now nothing against you two, but I just don't know about kids these days. Take that bloke that walked out just before you came in-- always dresses up like it's Halloween with his black clothes and white make-up. And what with him wearing that black nail polish, he looks like a bleedin' freak. However he comes in here and buys things properly, so he's alright in my books, but still, I hate to know he goes home to his parents and says hello to his mum and dad dressed like that."

"He looked like a bloody idiot," Draco agreed from across the store.

"Goth, they call it," the store owner continued, snorting to show what he thought of that. "I'd say from the looks of things that you two would fit right in with that lot. Just look at yourselves, you both already have the black robes on, all's you need is the white make-up on your face." 

"Yeah…well…where we come from this is pretty normal," Harry said, hoping he could steer the conversation away from their clothing and toward a business transaction. 

"Oh? And where is that at, if I may ask?" 

"It's up north," Harry said quickly, "but look, sir, the reason why we are here is that we want to sell you something." 

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out a single, gold galleon, and placed it upon the counter.

"Blimey, son!" the old man exclaimed. "Where the ruddy hell did you get something like that?" He quickly reached into his vest pocket and whipped out a small jeweler's scope in his hand. He placed the small black scope on his right eye and held the coin very close, examining it thoroughly.

"Is this pure gold?" The old man quivered with excitement as he gently placed the galleon back onto the counter.

“Yes, it is. And there’s more where that came from if you’re willing to--Draco!” Harry swiftly crossed the room to where Draco stood peering into the barrel of an antique revolver, his fingers dangerously close to the trigger. “Get away from that!” he ordered.

“Don’t worry, son, it’s not loaded!” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. “No worries.”

“It had better not be!” Harry snapped, carefully peeling Draco’s fingers off the gun and hanging the weapon back on its peg on the wall.

“What is it?” Draco asked. “It didn’t look that dangerous to me.”

“It--" Harry paused for a moment, trying to think how to explain. “It fires a bullet, that is, a tiny bit of metal, fast enough to go through anything. The bit of metal can go quite a ways, so it works from a distance. People use it for hunting, or for defending themselves.”

“You mean for killing people.” Draco said quietly. “It’s like being able to cast Avada Kedavra, then?”

“Exactly.” Harry sighed with relief that he had made Draco understand. “That’s why I don’t want you touching things here! You don’t know what anything is or how dangerous it might be.” He stifled an urge to take Draco by the hand as a father might do with a dangerously inquisitive child. 

When Harry returned to the counter, the shopkeeper was holding the galleon in his hand, looking from it to Draco and back. “What’s wrong with your friend?” he asked Harry. “Something’s not right about that one.”

“You have no idea!” Harry agreed. “It’s not his fault, though. The, ah, village we come from, he’s lived there his whole life and never been to a regular school.”

“Hmph.” The shopkeeper traced his finger over the surface of the galleon. “Something’s not right about this money, neither. I’ve sold my share of old coins, but I’ve never seen aught like these markings.”

“They’re, er, family heirlooms, and the marking are my friend’s family crest.” Seeing the shopkeeper’s eyes narrow with skepticism, Harry continued quickly, “Sir, I am not trying to deceive you, but we do need the money! It’s for his mother. She’s fallen ill, and they’re very poor, that is, except for the old family coins, of course, and my friend isn’t bright enough to count, or much less try to sell anything, so I came to help him sell what they have.”

“I see,” the man said as he focused on Harry, but glanced up to see Draco holding up a glass water globe, shaking it, and watching in fascination as the glitter swirled inside it. “Well, gold is gold.” He shrugged. “You said you had more?”

Harry nodded, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of galleons. The shopkeeper broke into a broad grin, his eyes widening at the sight of so much gold. As the old man opened his cash register, Harry glanced at Draco, who had come to stand beside him, still holding the glass globe. “What is that you found?” Harry asked him.

"I’m not completely sure, but I like it," Draco said as he ran his fingers over the black dragon that surrounded the globe. "The castle inside of the globe reminds me of Durmstrang, and the dragon could be a Hebridean Black Dragon."

"Fine, whatever, Draco," Harry replied as he just wanted to be rid of Draco at least until he could complete this transaction. Harry turned toward the man as Draco walked away again. "I'm sorry. I have a few more of these,” Harry said as he emptied the remaining contents of his pocket, and placed the gold onto the countertop. "That makes twenty in all. Twenty gold coins that you will not find elsewhere in London, or anywhere, for that matter.”

"Alright. A hundred pounds, and it is a deal," the man said reaching across the counter and shaking Harry's hand.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied as he shook the man's hand.

"Potter!" Draco hissed as the man had his back to the duo. "One hundred, is that a lot in Muggle money?" 

"It's enough," Harry whispered.

"You want that old globe, son?" The old man asked as he turned around handing Harry the money and a receipt to sign. "You can have it. Call it a condolence gift from me to your family, and to your sick mother."

"Thank you, sir," Harry hastily said as he grabbed Draco by the arm before Draco or the storeowner could ask any further questions. The two walked out of the shop and back onto the sidewalk as Draco continually muttered questions.

"Alright look, shut up Draco!" Harry said once they were outside of the shop. "Look, I'm sorry that I had to bring your mother into the conversation, but he was not going to buy the gold unless I made it into some sort of a sad story."

Draco looked puzzled at Harry's outburst. "I wasn't going to ask you about that. I knew you were lying to the idiot from the beginning. In a way, Potter, you are becoming more like a Slytherin every single day. I wanted you to look at this dragon; it looks like you when you get mad!"

"Bloody brilliant, Malfoy!" Harry sniped shaking his head in puzzlement at Draco’s fascination with the gaudy little object. "Come on, we still have to find something more inconspicuous to wear, some food to eat and a place to sleep for the night."

"And where will we get new clothes?" Draco asked.   
Harry stood there thinking for a moment. He scratched the back of his head, messing up his hair as he thought. "I got it. I remember my Aunt Petunia buying clothes for Dudley in a store. I know where it is, so we can go there and buy what we need." He took Draco’s hand, pulled him into the alley, and looked around to make sure that no one was watching. When he was satisfied that they were alone, he pulled out his wand.

\---------------------------------------

 

They apparated onto the asphalt near the loading dock of the store and made their way around the cheap cinder-block building to the front, where the automatic doors opened to admit them. Once inside, Draco planted his feet and stood gawking openly at the people and things in the store. Harry tried to follow Draco’s gaze, wondering what exactly had caught his attention, but everything looked so ordinary that Harry could only shake his head in frustration.

“You’re calling attention to us!” Harry hissed, tugging at the sleeve of Draco’s robe. “That’s the last thing we need. You can stare all you like once we’re inconspicuous.”

Draco nodded and followed Harry farther into the store, although he continued to wrinkle his nose as if the entire place were covered in Stinksap. Harry proceeded to the part of the store that sold school supplies and found two knapsacks like those that Aunt Petunia had purchased for Dudley each year. As far as Harry knew, Dudley had never carried a book in his life, but that hadn’t mattered to Petunia. Harry had never gotten so much as a box of crayons, and though they held no interest for him now, the sight of the colored sticks of wax stirred up more feelings than it should.

“What are the sacks for?” Draco asked, following Harry toward the racks of clothing in the far corner of the store.

“To carry everything we need with us. We can’t keep apparating and disapparating every time we need something. We have to blend in well enough to stay hidden until your father is safely in Azkaban.”

“So that’s your brilliant plan, then? We live like Muggles for the next eleven days?” Draco’s voice came from behind Harry, and Harry turned to see that Draco had paused beside a rack of colorful women’s nightwear.

“I don’t have any brilliant plans other than to survive, and hopefully to avoid killing anyone, even...” he trailed off as he noted Draco had selected a purple muumuu with large black followers embroidered around the hem. “Put that back,” Harry advised.

“You said we need to dress like Muggles.”

“Put it back, now.” Harry snatched the garment out of Draco’s hand and hung it back on the rack. The thought of Draco in the muumuu made him want to laugh, but he bit his tongue.

The next rack to catch Draco's interest had short-sleeved satin bathrobes, including one in emerald green. "No," Harry said firmly, as Draco had placed his hand upon the garment, although in truth the robe would have looked quite nice on Draco. "You could never be seen in public wearing any of that. You need something ordinary, like a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt." After selecting a pair of jeans and a shirt for himself, he draped the clothes over his arm and motioned for Draco to do the same.

"Fine." Draco chose a dark pair of jeans but refused the tee shirts, opting instead for a plain white button-up shirt.

"Good." Harry nodded his approval and proceeded to another section of the store, where he grabbed an armload of beef jerky, granola bars, and bottled drinks.

At the checkout, he payed for the items with a few of the pound notes from his wallet and winced at the cost. He wondered if he would have enough Muggle currency to last them until the trial. 

Draco headed toward the door of the store, but Harry stopped him, steering him instead to the washroom near the entrance. After setting all of the purchases on the counter top, he divided the food between the two knapsacks and tore the tags from the clothing. He also remembered to place Draco's water globe into one of the sacks so that no Muggle would accuse them of stealing the item. "Change in a stall, roll up your robe and put it in your bag." He advised Draco, handing him the jeans and shirt.

Inside the cramped stall, Harry took off his robe and tossed it over the door. As he changed into his new set of clothes, he heard Draco complaining from the stall next to him.

"I suppose this is what it smells like when you don't have house elfs? Or do Muggles lack a sense of smell as well as the ability to do magic?"

"Stop talking like that!" Harry growled. "If you insist on flapping your jaw, talk about something normal, like…" He paused, unable to finish the sentence. He had been going to say "football" or "cricket," or "tele" but none of the words would mean anything to Draco. "Just don't advertise who we are," he finished lamely.

Harry finished changing, but when he exited the stall, he saw that Draco was still inside the one next to it. Draco's robe was thrown over the side of the stall, his shoes were off, and he stood in his stockings, facing the door. After a long silence during which Draco did nothing but shuffle his feet Harry’s patience had began to wane. 

"Hurry up! What's taking you so long in there?"

"Are these bloody pants supposed to close?" Draco asked.

"That's what the zipper is for, yes." Harry grinned, remembering how many times he had felt a fool for failing to know some mundane detail of wizarding life.

"Well, this one is defective!" Draco shouted.

"What do you mean it’s defective? Only someone like you would not know how to work a zipper," Harry said as he set his bag under the counter and then opened the door to Draco's stall. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from smiling, and he stepped inside the tiny space, trying not to chortle and snicker while closing the door. With the door closed behind him, Harry turned to face Draco and quickly realized that he was no longer in the mood for laughing. 

Draco had put on the white button-up shirt, but it hung open, exposing the pale, soft skin of Draco's chest. Also open was the fly of the blue jeans that revealed the garment that Draco wore under the jeans. It was dark green, and the fabric had a soft sheen to it. In the tiny stall, they had so little room to stand that the ends of Harry's shoes touched Draco's toes.

"Well? Stop staring and help me, Potter!" Draco ordered.

"The zipper pull sometimes gets stuck," Harry explained, only half aware of the words coming out of his mouth. He heard the sound of the washroom door opening and closing, followed by the sound of a stall door, but it hardly registered. His eyes were glued to Draco’s lower body, and the sight filled his brain, dulling his other senses. “Sometimes it’s hard to get it to go up like it should.”

"Just do it, and get it over with!" Draco prompted.

"Alright," Harry replied, but he remained frozen in place, staring. His face burned; he was sure that if he looked in the mirror that hung outside the stall, he would find himself an ugly beet red. Draco, on the other hand, flushed only in spots along his cheek bones that made him even more attractive.

"Merlin's Beard, Potter, just grab it and get this over with! Hurry up and pull it up! I'm getting tired of standing here with my pants open," Draco said as he crossed his arms.

"The head seems to be stuck. It's difficult to reach it, hang on, it might work if I tug on it a bit," Harry said as he maneuvered himself in the cramped space to grip the zipper a bit better.

"Ouch! Watch what you're doing there," Draco hissed as the zipper had snagged a piece of the soft green garment and possibly some of the skin underneath it. "I know you know how to do it--you did your own!"

"It's not exactly easy to do this from where I'm standing," Harry irritably replied. "Besides, if you would learn to do things for yourself, I wouldn't have to take care of you every single time."

Draco scoffed. "Trust me, this is the first and last time I'll ask you to do this! You're not even any good at it."

“Well if you’d stop fidgeting and squirming about, it would come--“

"Just shut up and finish it off, Potter!" Draco snarled.

"Hey, mates?" A voice from outside of the stall brought the argument to a stop, and both flushed as deeply as they possibly could. "Not to get into your business or anything, but there is a place just down the street where you could get a room, instead of doing it in a bathroom stall."

Draco opened his mouth, but Harry put a finger on his lips, silencing him before he could tell the Muggle stranger where to go. “Yeah, thanks.” Harry called, careful to keep his voice neutral. “We’ll remember that.” The sound of water running was followed by the door opening and shutting, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

Deciding it was better not to look, Harry reached down, found the cold metal teeth of the zipper, and followed them down to the zipper pull with his fingers. Along the way, his knuckles brushed soft fabric. He recoiled, muttered an apology, and decided it was better to watch what he was doing after all. He dug at the edges of the pull with his fingernails, but Draco's pants didn't fit as well as they had a moment ago. No matter how much Harry tried to avoid it, his knuckles continued to slide over the green cloth, and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the problematic bit of metal. He could hear Draco's breathing growing louder, as if he were struggling for air, and in fact he could feel Draco's breath on his cheeks. He was ready to give up, both on the zipper and on his self control, when the zipper pull flipped up. Harry tugged upward and finished by buttoning Draco's jeans for him.

Almost of their own violation, his hands started on the shirt, buttoning from the bottom up. He expected Draco to protest that he could do this himself, but instead he watched Harry with glassy, dilated eyes and leaned back against the wall of the stall. As Harry reached for each button, his fingers brushed the skin under the shirt. Each moment of contact was like an electric shock that made Draco twitch and sent a jolt of sensation through Harry's fingertips. Once finished with the buttons, Harry took one of Draco's arms and began rolling up the cuff of the shirt until it reached just below Draco's elbow. He gave the other sleeve the same treatment and then leaned against the opposite wall, admiring his work. Draco's eyes traveled down, then up, and down again, and he wore a more intense version of the expression that Ron had had in Fleur's presence.

Without warning, Draco lunged forward and put his left hand on Harry's throat. Their two bodies ground together, and Draco's lips were close to Harry's ear when he said, "If you ever tell anyone about this…" His fingers tensed, completing the threat without truly hurting.

"Like it's such as honor to help you put on your clothes that I'm going to go bragging about it!"

"You're enjoying it," Draco accused, his right hand sliding between their bodies and moving down Harry's chest, then to the front of his pants.

Not here, Harry told himself. For Merlin's sake, not here, not in a damned public toilet! Have some dignity!

"You're a bloody hypocrite, Malfoy," Harry muttered, his own hand sliding downward. His inner voice of reason continued to drone about their current location, but other, louder thoughts drowned it out.

Before Harry could reach his goal, Draco grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the wall. He flattened his palm against Harry's, pressing the back of his hand hard against the cold metal. "Don't touch me, Potter!"

Harry could feel the strong pulse in Draco’s wrist and it sent a wave of ecstasy through his body, even in this uncomfortable position. Harry thought of several ways to respond to Draco's words, but they all became irrelevant when he heard the sound of the unoiled hinges screaming in protest, followed by the thud of the door hitting the rubber doorstop. They were no longer alone in the washroom, and the remembered sound of the stranger’s voice rang in his ears, ruining the moment. The next sound was a metallic clank followed by the sound of shuffling feet.

Without a word, Draco bent over, picked up his shoes and rushed out of the stall, tossing the robe over his shoulder. Harry followed close behind and winced when he saw an elderly man struggling across the washroom on his walker. The man glared from Harry to Draco, shaking his head and muttering something about what the world was coming to.

"It's not what you're thinking," Draco spat, shouldering his bag and answering the man's glare with his own look of contempt. "My zipper was stuck--"

"Don't bother." Harry sighed and reached under the counter to retrieve his own knapsack. When he had the pack settled on his shoulders, he stood in front of the sink and splashed water on his face. In the mirror, he could see the old man turn and shuffle away, clearly not needing to use the toilet badly enough to warrant tolerating the presence of Draco and Harry.

Draco twisted and turned in front of the mirror, giving himself an appraising look as he posed in various positions. Harry came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, liking the view of the two of them together. 

“You look…” Amazing, fantastic, beautiful. Harry swallowed hard, biting back all of the words that came to mind. “Inconspicuous, he finished aloud.

Draco reached up and covered Harry’s hand with his own, squeezing for a moment before brushing it away. “What did I tell you about touching me, Potter?”

As they exited the washroom, they saw the old man standing with a pair of girls, perhaps his granddaughters. The older girl bent to whisper loudly to the younger, "It's too bad, really. The one with glasses is cute." Both girls burst out in a fit of giggles.

"Shows that Muggles have no taste," Draco muttered, lengthening his stride. When they had exited the store, he looked over his shoulder at Harry. "You heard that, right? She called you the one with the glasses."

"So? I've been called a lot worse things. Usually by you. Your point is?"

"My point is you have to take the things off. Put them in your pack. As long as you're wearing them, we're not inconspicuous."

"I need them to see!" Harry protested. "Besides, a lot of people have glasses."

"And you won't be one of them, which will confuse anyone looking for us. You can follow me."

"Follow you?" Harry repeated, his words coming out louder than he had intended them. His outburst had caused people to pause and stare, then look away in embarrassment as they passed by. "You don't know anything! I had to--" he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned close to Draco. "I had to help you zip up your damned pants!"

"I know that at least ten Muggles can now say with certainty that they saw two men around eighteen, one of them with glasses."

Reluctantly, Harry removed his glasses, folded them carefully, and put them in one of the outer pockets of his knapsack. The world became a blur of shapes with ill-defined edges.

"That's better." Draco nodded, satisfied. "You always did look like a prat in those things."

"Fine," Harry disgustedly said, "Just don't walk too fast."

 

\------------------------

 

Several hours and many arguments later, Harry and Draco still searched the streets of London as they attempted to find a suitable place to rest for the night. The locations that caught Draco’s eye generally had crystal chandeliers hanging in the lobby and stone lions standing guard on the stoop, while the places Harry could afford made Draco shudder with disgust. Harry had gotten so frustrated with Draco that he had put his glasses back on and began selecting, much to Draco's dismay. A number of times their arguments grew so heated that people stopped to stare at the quarreling couple.

"Alright, look, I have the money, and I know how to spend Muggle currency," Harry grumbled after another argument, "the next place that we see is the one that we will go to. It's getting dark, so we have to go somewhere."

"Fine, whatever!" Draco angrily hissed.

Minutes later, both stood outside of a small building that simply said "Hotel Vacancy" on the sign in the window. "This will do," Harry said as he looked up at the sign, and placed his hand upon the door. 

A bell jingled above the door as they entered the small lobby area, and a red haired woman who could have been a lost Weasley family member greeted the two. Her copper-colored curls were pinned and piled high on her head, and she wore enough make-up for a clown. "What can I do for you two lovelies this evening?" The woman glanced up from the magazine in her lap, a glossy, colorful thing with pictures of Muggle celebrities and articles about the Princes of England. 

"We'd like a room for the night, ma'am," Harry said, smiling politely.

"Alright, I have one room left. A single bed; hope that's not a problem with either of you," she said as she gathered an old, dusty book from behind the counter and placed it in front of Harry. "That's twenty quid for one night."

"We'll take it," Harry replied and scribbled two false names in the registry before Draco could mutter in protest. The woman handed Harry the key to the room, as he handed her the money. "One more thing, um, where can we find a place to eat?"

She arched her eyebrow, and pointed a long acrylic fingernail past Harry and Draco toward a place across the street. "DeVandry's Café. He will be open for a little bit longer. You two can bottle over and eat, then come back for the night."

"Thank you," Harry said as he flashed a smile at the lady who went back to reading her celebrity magazine.

\----------------------------------------------

He had let Draco take a bath first, since he did not want to create yet another argument. A smile and small laugh escaped Harry as he heard Draco trying to navigate the hot and cold water handles of the shower stall, only to hear him scream as the cold water hit the naked Slytherin full force. A half hour later, once Draco had figured out how to use the cold and hot water, he opened the door and walked out of the bathroom fully clothed, and muttering about his lack of proper sleepwear.

"Just go to bed in your clothes that you have on," Harry said as he got up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom door. "I've done it before. It's not so bad."

Harry watched as Draco wrinkled his nose at the thought of having to sleep in a Muggle shirt and blue jeans. "Just make sure to take your shoes off first before you get into bed." Harry disappeared behind the door as Draco tossed his shoe at the door, striking it where Harry had been seconds before.

"Be sure to take your shoes off first," Draco mocked loudly. A moment later, Harry heard a thud as the other shoe struck the back of the door. 

Harry stood leaning against the wall as the warm water gently pelted his body. It had been one of the longest days that he could ever remember, even longer than some of the days when he was hiding in the woods with Ron and Hermione. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the water as it flowed over him, soothing his aching muscles from the day's events. Feeling the sensation of coldness upon his skin, Harry came out of his daydream only to realize that the hot water had run out and pellets of cold water were stinging him. Quickly, he turned the water off and dried himself with the bath towel. Pulling back the shower curtain Harry reached for his glasses and clothes. Moments later, he emerged from the bathroom and stood gaping at the bed.

Draco lay there in the bed, still fully clothed while next to him he had pillows standing up on their sides, creating a barrier between himself and the space that Harry would occupy. He did not turn to look at Harry, but instead stared at the ceiling. "It's just to make sure that you stay on your side of the bed and don't touch me."

Harry scoffed. "And what am I supposed to use as a pillow?"

"I don't care,” Draco replied while turning over on his side and facing away from Harry.

"Well, I do," Harry stated reaching for the last pillow that rested against Draco's feet. "You don't win this battle so easily." Harry threw the pillow down onto the bed and slowly edged his way into the small space that had been deemed his. He placed his glasses on the bedside table and reached upward to switch the light off. Seconds later he lay there in the darkness, listening to Draco breathe and remembering the feel of Draco’s hands on him in the washroom. 

It was Harry’s first night alone with Draco, and sleeping in the same bed together. It wasn't supposed to be this way, not like this. Harry had seen it a thousand times before in his mind, but never in those times was it exactly as it was right now. They had been through so much together day; they had saved each other's lives! Given their narrow escape, they should be celebrating. Or, given that they were still in danger, perhaps they should be comforting each other. In either case, there shouldn't be a wall of stale-smelling old foam between them. He rolled over onto his side and gazed at the window that looked outside, wishing that everything could be just like his dreams. He wished that he could at least remove the pillow barrier and hold Draco while they both slept.

\-------------------------------

The smug smile had spread across Draco's lips as he had stood before the camera, holding his Nimbus 2001 broomstick. Lucius had gently placed his right hand upon Draco's right shoulder, standing tall behind his son. One flash later and the proud moment had been forever etched in time. 

Lucius held the frame in his hand as he watched the photograph repeat itself. Each time it did, Lucius could feel life's cruel twist of fate stabbing a bit deeper into his heart. The bottle of firewhiskey sat upon the desk, emptied of its contents. 

"My own son," Lucius spoke as he traced his fingertips over the photograph. "Betrayed by my own flesh and blood." He reached for the empty bottle and tried to pour the liquid into the glass, only to look through moist eyes at the empty container. A low growl escaped Lucius as he viciously threw the bottle against the wall and watched it shatter into many fragments.

"I give you the best years of my life, and this is how you repay me. You have turned your back upon your family, your heritage, and your very own name," Lucius said as he stared blankly at the photo. "The truth has made you a traitor. You had money, power, and wealth at your fingertips, and I tried to give you more. I offered you one last chance at glory, but you--” Lucius closed his eyes, seeing the silver mist dragon charging toward him as Draco and Potter joined hands. "You chose him!" Lucius finished angrily.

He looked again at the photograph as Draco flashed the smug smile upwards at Lucius. "Your fate is now connected with him. He will be your downfall." Lucius placed the picture on the desk and drew his wand. He paused briefly while looking at the picture for a last time. "Do you know what real love is, Draco? Sacrifice."

"Incendio." Lucius whispered the spell and watched as the picture quickly burned to a small pile of ashes. 

A brief knock came from the other side of the door. "Enter," Lucius firmly spoke while continuing to watch the charred remains of the picture, not even looking up at the person who entered the room.

"You called for me, Lucius?" The deep voice came from the man as he entered the room.

Lucius sat down and briefly looked at the man in front of his desk. "The first plan is finished. It did not all go accordingly, but the next phase must continue on."

The man did not respond but simply nodded his head in agreement. 

"There is, however, one small matter that I did overlook, and that is something that must be dealt with as soon as possible," Lucius said as he reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a small pouch. "I want you to bring me my son." 

Lucius pushed the pouch to the end of the desk and waited as the man's hand picked it up, and placed it inside of his cloak. "Where shall I find him?"

Lucius turned in his chair and gazed out the window at Narcissa's gaudy, sprawling garden. Draco had hidden there as a child, but now he would not be so easy to locate. "Draco has made the mistake of attaching himself to Harry Potter. Like a fledgling, Potter will go to the places that are safest to him, or ones that he is familiar with. His home is no longer safe, as I have access to it. Hogwarts and Hogsmeade could be a possibilities as well as the Muggle home of his aunt and uncle. Through the Death Eaters, we have learned of several places that Potter was located throughout London as he was trying to hide. Potter will possibly be disguised in some manner; however Draco will be the one that gives him away. If you find Draco, then you have found Harry Potter. Use whatever tactics you see fit, but all that I order you to do is that you bring Draco and Potter to me; alive." 

"This will cost extra, you know. I don't usually do nanny jobs.” The man looked as if he might spit on the floor to show his contempt, but thought better of it. 

“Yes, yes!” Lucius waved a hand impatiently. “Whatever you require, as long as my orders are followed.”

"As you wish," the man said as he turned and left the room.

Lucius did not bother to show his guest to the door. Instead, he ran his finger through the pile of ashes on his desk, making dark circles on the polished wood. His head swum with the fading effects of the fire whiskey, and his thoughts ran in circles of their own. If he had been kinder to Draco-- but no, the boy lacked discipline as it was. Perhaps if he hadn't given into Narcissa's pleading, if he had sent the boy to get a real education at Durmstrang... That, of course, assumed the boy could have survived the rigors of a classical wizarding school. His mistake, Lucius decided, had been made much earlier, the day he chose a bride from the weak and sickly house of Black. The whole Black family tree was rife with failures and blood-traitors, and once again it had borne rotten fruit.


	20. Innocence Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 is finally here. It is a fairly lengthy chapter, but a very good chapter, I believe. This chapter begins to set up the next few chapters. So I hope that everyone has a bit of time to read, and enjoy!

Chapter 20: Innocence Hunted

 

Samuel McKnight eased himself down the wooden stairs from the loft above the storeroom. The steps groaned under his bulk, each with its own distinct voice. He had listened to the same song of shrieking boards each day for years now, and each day he had made the same promise to himself. Soon, he would build newer steps, once he made enough money from the shop to do so. He crossed the room and twisted the sign on the door from "closed" to “open". His aged hand rubbed his jaw and neck, feeling the coarse bristles of his unshaven face. 

 

“Forgot to shave again this morning,” he muttered as he walked behind the counter, “customers are gonna think I'm some hairy old goat.” A raspy chuckle escaped him, followed by the old man’s wheezing and coughing until he finally spit out a mouthful of morning phlegm. 

 

As he wiped his lips clean, his eyes spotted the pouch that contained the gold coins that he had purchased from the boys the previous day. He grumbled as he snatched up the bag and fished out one of the coins with his arthritic fingers. “Bloody old fool you are Samuel, taking advantage of those two boys like that,” he said to the empty storeroom while holding the single coin up to the light and noticing its dazzling shine.

 

“Still, who in the bloody hell would want a coin like this? Probably can’t sell 'em as they are. Have to get 'em melted down," he said as he placed the coin back into the pouch and tossed it onto the countertop. "That takes some of the value off 'em. Almost makes it a fair deal."

 

However, that wasn't true. He should have given the boys at least twice what he paid them, even assuming that the coins would need to be recast. He had not slept well, that night because his mind kept reminding him that he had taken advantage of the two strange yokels. 

 

The one hardly seemed to know his head from his arse, and he had a sick mum to boot. You know that eventually you will pay for your wrong doings, you old codger. 

"Business is business and I’m a hell of a good businessman!” he shouted to himself as if trying to will away his nagging conscience. 

 

The door to the shop opened, and Samuel turned around to greet the customer in his usual business voice, only this time he stopped before a single word could escape his mouth. The customer had the same long robes as the boys from yesterday, but took the look a bit farther by wearing his hair long, too. Judging from the man's purposeful scowl, Samuel thought he might be the bloke with the sick wife come to complain about the price his boy got for the coins. Samuel opted for a grin and decided to see if he could get a smile out of the stranger. That would be a start. “I really have to find out where the ruddy-hell this Halloween party is that you lot keep coming from! Halloween in June--ha! Any excuse for a pint though--"

 

The cloaked stranger held up a hand, and Samuel fell silent as a jolt of fear went through his body. The stranger could be carrying anything under those bloody robes-- a gun or a knife, probably a sword to go with the getup he was wearing. In this line of work, Samuel had seen his share of dodgy characters, and the man in front of him was worse than any of them. He had a look in his eye that said he's as soon kill you as look at you, and not because he wanted the money in your wallet, or even because you looked at him cross-eyed. Like some movie villain, this one wanted to kill you just for the fun of it. 

 

Samuel mopped his brow with the back of his hand. He wished the stranger would just say what he wanted. Desperate to fill the silence, he swallowed hard and said, “How...how can I help you sir? Would you care to look around and buy something, or maybe you have something that you would like to sell?”

 

“Enough, old man!” the stranger's voice was deep and gravely, as if he were growling every word. “I’ve not come here to buy any of your things! I seek information. ” He slowly walked to the counter, and pulled out two pictures from the inside of his cloak. “Have you seen these two boys recently?”

 

Samuel looked down at the two moving photographs and gasped when he saw that the images moved. A dark-haired boy held up some sort of trophy, grinning and waving the golden cup. In the other photo, a sullen teenager swatted a lock of platinum blond hair out of his face as he draped his arms around a plain brunette girl. Samuel had bought and sold his share of gadgets, but he had never seen anything like this. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out a hand to touch the paper-thin displays. "Say, are those a new kind of photographs? I've heard folks talk about the new digital ones. They say it makes the pictures look realistic."

 

The stranger wrapped his knuckles like an angry schoolteacher. “Never mind that, focus on the pictures! Have you seen either of the boys?"

 

Once more, Samuel looked at the photographs, ignoring the technology and looking only at the people. The faces of the boys matched those of the pair that had come in the day before. 

 

So much for being from a backwards village, the old man thought wryly. And so much for the sick mum, too, I'll wager.

 

The two young men had been scared, he realized. Not just worried about a sick relative, but truly afraid for their own lives, as much so as any of the sad bastards who hawked watches and rings to pay bookies and dealers. Samuel looked up at the stranger, deciding what to say. Even a junkyard dog had more feeling in its eyes than this bloke; looking at him was like locking eyes with a snake.

 

Samuel snorted and waved a hand casually. “I see plenty of weird people walking up and down the street outside. Hell, in this business, most o' my customers are a bit off. I guarantee you, though, if I'd seen two boys wearing Halloween capes here in the middle of the summer, like yourself, I would have remembered 'em.”

 

A gloved hand reached out and pocketed the photographs. The strange man closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His nostrils flared. Tilting his chin up, he inhaled in short, sharp breaths, like a hound catching a scent.

 

“You lie old man!” The stranger said, barring his teeth in a snarl.

 

“If you don’t get the hell out of my store, right now, I will contact the authorities and they can deal with a crazed sort like yourself!” Samuel said as he bustled toward the stairs.

 

“Imperio.” The word came from the cloaked stranger in a deep yet clear command, and Samuel stopped in place, one foot on the bottom step. All at once, everything became clear as only one thing mattered; serving the man who stood behind him. A part of Samuel felt afraid, but also he felt a wonderful release of all responsibilities. 

 

"Turn around," the stranger growled. Samuel felt his feet respond as his mind sang out with the joy of being able to do such a simple thing for his master.

 

The stranger held a stick in his hand, but Samuel only got a brief glimpse of it before being tucked away in the man's sleeve.

 

“Now,” the deep voice started, “I know that you have lied to me. I can smell their scent in this room.” The old man quivered slightly as he stood in place, as if bound by some irresistible magic. “Why did they come here?”

 

"They sold some coins, sir!" Samuel answered, the words bursting out of him. He raised a hand and pointed to the pouch behind the counter.

 

The stranger grinned. "Coins, eh? Bring it to me.”

 

The old man’s hands grabbed the pouch, relishing the feel of the gold through the fabric, before placing the pouch into the outstretched, gloved hand. 

 

“Very good, Muggle,” he said and placed the pouch into his robe pocket. “Now, did either of the boys say where they were going next?” 

 

"N-no, sir." Samuel wanted to weep, having disappointed this man whose word was law, whose voice was truth, and whose will was everything.

 

"No clues, no conversation about what they were going to buy with the money you gave them?"

 

"It was for the one's sick mum. They're from up north somewhere, the other one said." Samuel felt like a guitar string stretched taught and waiting to be plucked. He longed for another command to fulfill, ached for it more than he had ever wanted a woman, famished for a meal, or longed for a bed to lie down on.

 

"Our business is almost complete." The man’s eyes glanced to the wall where the old revolver hung, its polished handle glittering in the morning light. "I always did like the things Muggles built to kill each other with. Do you have the bullets to this?” the man asked as he pointed toward the gun. 

 

Samuel nodded, reaching down behind the counter and picking up the small, metallic case.

 

“Good, now unlock it, and take one of the bullets that can be loaded into the gun.” 

 

Samuel reached into his trouser pocket and produced a small keychain that had two silver keys on it. Swiftly, he inserted the key into the lock and picked out one bullet without looking down at his hands. Wordlessly, the stranger's will flowed into him. He was led toward the revolver as though his feet were not even touching the ground. Upon reaching the gun, he expertly flicked his wrist, opening the chamber of the revolver. 

 

“Place the bullet into the chamber, and go upstairs. There, you will point it at your face and pull the trigger,” the husky voice commanded. 

 

Samuel nodded agreement, although some tiny part of his mind shrieked in protest. His finger twitched in anticipation of the act. He reached the stairs and walked up them without any trouble, as if he were gliding upon the wood. If the stairs groaned under him, he didn't hear.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

The man stood in the storeroom alone now as he listened to the footsteps above. Seconds later, he heard the clicking noise of the revolver’s hammer locking into place, and then the click of the firing pin releasing. He wickedly smiled in anticipation as the sounds of the process repeated, and yet once more there was no sound of the revolver discharging. The sound of an empty bullet chamber came once more from above. The man hastened to the bottom step, where he stopped, waiting to hear the hammer click into place once again. A loud report echoed throughout the building followed by the heavy thud of Samuel's body falling onto the wooden floor. 

 

An evil smile formed upon the stranger's face as he quickly waved his wand at the door sign, causing the “open” sign to read “closed." Upon closing the door to the small shop, the man turned, whispered, “Defigo” and heard the lock click into place. He looked around to make sure that no Muggle witnessed him exiting the shop and to make sure that no Aurors were in sight. Satisfied that he was unseen, he once more inhaled deeply and set off in the direction that his sense told him would bring him closer to his objective.

 

\---------------------------------------

The same light that had shown through the window of McKnight’s Emporium now peeked through the curtains of the hotel room where Harry lay on his back, asleep. His left hand lay beside his body, palm open, while his right hand was loosely balled on his sternum. A soft rustling sound from the door brought Harry out of his light sleep. Unsure of what the sound was, but knowing that it could be a possible Death Eater attack, he reached for his glasses and wand. Swiftly, he scanned the area around the door trying to find the source of the sound before finally noticing a small piece of paper that had been pushed under the door.

 

Harry carefully got out of the bed, making sure not to disturb Draco who slept through the intrusion. His fingers twitched as he touched the paper, still anticipating the note to be from Lucius Malfoy or a Death Eater. 

 

Harry exhaled, and his tension eased as he saw the feminine scrawl. 

 

"Checkout is at 9am," Harry whispered. He glanced at the clock that sat on the small table beside the bed. "Well, we still have a little bit of time left. I might as well let you sleep a bit longer."

 

Gently, Harry eased himself back into the area that had been designated his, and lay there staring at the ceiling. He tried to think about what their next move would be. Harry knew that they could not continue to stay in Muggle London with the bit of money that they had. 

 

"Gringots," he whispered trying to come up with some kind of a solution to their problem. "No, we can't go into Diagon Alley. Lucius would have someone there waiting for us." 

 

He deeply exhaled as he continued to delete options from the list inside of his mind. Finally, he settled on one option that he knew would be the most difficult one to implement. No matter how hard Draco protested, and he would protest, Harry knew that they had no choice. However, having to tell Draco that he would have to go and spend time at Ron Weasley's house was about as appealing as trying to tame a blast-ended skrewt. Harry decided he would put off the bad news until Draco was in one of his rare good moods.

 

On the other side of the pillow barrier, which was close to falling down, Draco mumbled and tossed to his left while extending his right arm forward across the pillows. The Slytherin's hand did not touch Harry, but was mere inches from Harry's face, allowing him the opportunity to closely inspect every line etched onto Draco's hand. 

 

Being careful not to wake Draco, Harry lightly traced the lines on his hand with his own finger and admired the curvature of each one. Harry had grabbed Draco's hand before to apparate, however he had never had the time to look closely and admire it. Softly, he placed his hand to Draco's and found that the Slytherin's was slightly longer and wider, but not by much. The feel of their fingers and hands touching like this sent a wave of pleasure and sensuality through Harry. In his mind, he could easily see the two of them holding hands and walking along a beach somewhere deeply in love, and not having to be worried about Lucius Malfoy or any dark wizard to threaten them.

 

Slowly, Harry raised himself up to a sitting position in the bed so that he could see Draco. He had never allowed himself to stare so closely before. Even when the two of them had been pressed together in the washroom stall, he had been afraid to look Draco in the face for too long, as if Draco would somehow be able to read his thoughts through his eyes. Now, he could appreciate every detail of the Slytherin's features. Blond hair lay scattered on Draco's forehead, making Harry want to run his hands through it and see if it felt as soft as it looked. Harry admired how Draco's mouth was slightly parted as the Slytherin breathed in through his mouth, creating a light, soft snore. Harry wanted to brush his fingertips over those pink lips so badly, even more so he wanted to place his own lips over them and finally be able to know what it felt like to kiss Draco. 

 

"No, better not. At least not yet," Harry whispered as he smiled at Draco's sleeping form. "You would hex me worse than anything if I took advantage of you like that. One day, though, I will do it."

 

Harry lightly placed Draco's outstretched hand back across the pillows and softly exited the bed to go into the bathroom for his morning shower. Ten minutes later, he opened the door and saw Draco stirring about in the empty bed.

 

"Draco, come on, it's time to wake up," Harry called from the open door. 

 

"Ugh…bloody Potter, always telling me what to do. Let me sleep a bit longer," Draco muttered while taking one of the pillows and placing it over his head.

 

Harry stood there smiling at the childish antics: apparently, it was too early in the morning for Draco to wear his aura of invincibility. Harry walked over to the bed and grabbed one of the pillows.

 

"Hey! Malfoy!" Harry said more loudly before swinging the pillow down onto the other pillow that covered Draco's head. 

 

"Sod off, Potter! I'm trying to sleep!" 

 

"Yeah, well sleep time is over with," Harry playfully said as he continued to swing the pillow. Each blow landed with a satisfying thud.

 

Quickly, Draco rose from the bed and started to say something to Harry only to be interrupted by a swift hit to his face by the soft pillow that knocked the Slytherin backwards onto the bed.

 

Harry winced and stifled a laugh. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting you to--"

 

Harry was unable to finish what he was saying as a white pillow connected with the side of his head and knocked him down onto the mattress beside Draco. The blows continued to come more forcefully as Draco pounded Harry with the pillow. 

 

While Harry had held onto the end of the pillow and swung it at Draco, Draco had jammed his hand into the pillowcase so that each slap had the full force of his arm and hand behind it. Even with the flimsy foam cushioning, the blows stung. Torn between laughing and crying out in pain, Harry grabbed Draco's wrist in order to stop the beating.

 

"Alright, you win!" Harry panted, grateful for a reprieve.

 

Draco smirked, enjoying his victory. "Now you know how it feels."

 

"Yeah, but I didn’t hit you as hard." Harry said as he pulled the pillow from Draco's hand and tossed it into the floor. He flexed his shoulder, which had received one of Draco's nastier smacks. "You know how to ruin everything, don't you?" 

 

"Just like you ruined my sleep." Draco shot a longing glance at the bed.

 

"That's because we have to check out soon. Go take your shower."

 

"You did leave me some hot water didn't you, Potter?" Draco asked as he got off the bed, brushing right past Harry.

 

"Maybe," Harry replied as he smirked while Draco stood in the bathroom doorway. "Draco?"

 

"What, Potter?"

 

"That was your first pillow fight, wasn't it?" 

 

"Whatever, Potter!" Draco scoffed as he closed the bathroom door.

 

Harry knew that Draco may have dismissed the incident as childish behavior, but in that one moment, Harry had seen a small happy gleam in those grey-blue eyes. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Hurry up, you've been in there for almost thirty minutes," Harry said as he tapped on the bathroom door. "It doesn't take that long to bathe off. Besides, you're not dirty."

 

"Shut it, Potter!" Draco's voice came from the other side of the door as Harry heard the sound of water splashing onto the floor. "I am too dirty. I had to sleep in that germ-infested Muggle bed!"

 

"You might want to know that I saw a roach in that tub this morning before I took my shower," Harry said as he smiled.

 

A loud sloshing sound came from the other side of the door as Harry could imagine seeing Draco leap out of the water and onto the towel that lay spread onto the floor. Draco shouted a few obscenities before wailing, "Why didn't you tell me that! I hate bugs!" 

 

Harry was almost in hysterics, but managed to suppress the giggles before answering. "Well, you didn't ask. Anyway, you should be shriveled up enough by now."

 

The bathroom door wrenched open so quickly that Harry almost fell to the floor. "I ought to kill you for that, Potter!" Draco growled. Harry had to stifle another fit of laughter at the sight of Draco. A second look made Harry decide that the Slytherin looked more sexy than funny. Draco's hair still dripped water onto his white shirt causing it to darken along his shoulders. Other dark spots appeared on Draco's chest and abdomen where the water had soaked through.

 

"Um, Malfoy?"

 

"What?"

 

"You're still wet. You'd better dry off once more," Harry smiled as he took the towel from Draco's hand and placed it onto the blond locks of hair.

 

"Ugh! Such an idiot," Draco muttered as he whipped around the bathroom door and slammed it shut while Harry stood there beaming.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

Draco opened the glass door, as he and Harry entered the office, only to find the same red-haired lady watching the portable television that sat on the edge of the counter. 

 

"Good Morning," Harry said aloud over the volume of the morning BBC news.

 

The woman turned and briefly smiled at Harry and Draco. "Morning, loves. Did you both sleep well?"

 

Draco opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of having to stay in a roach-infested cell and having to sleep on grainy sheets with musty-smelling pillows, and worse, to be charged money for the privilege. However, before he could voice his complaints, Harry spoke up, smiling like an idiot. "Yes, we did, thanks."

 

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Checking out, are you?" 

 

"Yes," Harry answered.

 

"Alright, I need the key, love."

 

"Damn!" Harry exclaimed as he felt his pants pockets. "I must have left it in the room." He turned to Draco. "Just stay here with her, and I’ll run back and get it."

 

"No, dear…" the lady started, but stopped as Harry exited the office without hearing what she had begun to say. 

 

"Typical," Draco scoffed while turning around to look at the woman after watching Harry leave.

 

"I take it he's always like that?"

 

"You could say that. He always has to do what's right, eve if it's a little thing."

 

“And I take it that you wouldn’t?” she said placing her hands upon her hips.

 

“What, leave the key in the room? You are going to clean the room, so why bother going back for the key, it’s in the room,” Draco replied. “Somewhere."

 

“That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the matter that counts.”

 

The red haired woman titled her head, and gave Draco a stern, maternal look. He wanted to scream at her that she wasn't his mother, that she had no right to look at him that way, but that would be "calling attention," so he looked down at the floor, shuffling his feet. 

 

"You know," she said softly. "You should hang onto a guy like that, love."

 

"What? No, you've got it all wrong we're not--" Draco started.

 

The lady raised her hand to stop Draco. "It's alright. Besides, you two make a lovely couple." She sighed deeply. "I'm Janine, and yourself?"

 

"Draco. And we're not a couple." He cursed himself for revealing his real name, but it wasn't his fault; she had caught him off guard with her blasted knowing looks and accusations.

 

She looked down at the registry before raising her gaze back to Draco. "Interesting name. Well, doesn't matter what's written here, anyway. You both seem like decent guys, and you're both cute as can be."

 

"Will you please stop--"

 

"Saying the truth?" Janine smiled, and Draco's pale face flushed red as the blood rushed to his cheeks. "Don't worry, I've seen all sorts of people in life."

 

"I'll bet," Draco muttered under his breath. He glanced around the cheaply furnished office, imagining all of the lowlifes and deviants that must walk through here. He wondered what sort of depravity had taken place in the bed he had just shared with Potter and then decided not to pursue that line of thinking.

 

Janine's eyebrows narrowed at Draco's response. "You come from money, don't you?"

 

"I…I…that's nothing to you," Draco sputtered as the surprise hit him.

 

"I can tell. You have an aura about you that says so. It’s the way you conduct yourself; the way that you hold your head up, tells me all that I need to know."

 

Draco snorted and crossed his arms as he knew a lecture was about to come from the woman. He wondered how much longer he would have to put up with this Muggle woman. Where was Potter?

 

"Would you believe that I once had money as well? Plenty of it. My husband was the president of a very successful company. At that time, we had everything. My boys had everything that they ever wanted. I didn't come from money. I married into it, and then after fourteen years of marriage, it was taken away from me. So, I had to do what any devoted mother would do to continue to raise my sons," Janine finished as she raised her hands upwards toward the ceiling. "It's not much but I was able to work two jobs and make enough money to send my sons to university." 

 

"Congratulations," Draco muttered sarcastically.

 

"Draco, whether or not you want to listen to me, I don't care, but you had better listen to this before you get knocked off of your pedestal of wealth and money. The one that you are with--"

 

"Harry," Draco said without thinking. "And I'm not with him."

 

"Harry," Janine said ignoring Draco's dismissal. "I can see it in him. He is what my mother always called 'a keeper'. Those are the type of people that you can learn to love and grow old with."

 

Draco tightened his face as if he had just swallowed a large amount of vomit. "Ugh! Merlin's beard! I haven't had breakfast yet; I don't need to picture Potter as an old man."

 

Janine smiled and continued. "Don't be fooled by money and wealth. Don't be fooled by the seduction of its power. That was my mistake. I saw money and that's all that I saw. Harry, he doesn't come from money, but I see that he's good and has a heart about him. Sometimes you have to choose what you want in life; money or happiness. Just remember that you can't always have both. Sometimes you must sacrifice one, in order to have the other. It's your choice to make, and you must choose by what your heart tells you."

 

The jingling of the bell over the door sounded as Harry came back into the small office, panting heavily. "Sorry it took so long, but the key somehow found its way under the bed. I guess it got there this morning during our pillow fight."

 

"Potter!" Draco groaned as his cheeks now flushed deep red.

 

"What?" Harry asked, his smirk belying his feigned innocence. Obviously, he enjoyed humiliating Draco so much that he didn't care if he embarrassed himself in the process.

 

"That's alright, love. You two go on and have a nice day. I will tidy up the room," Janine said as she took the key from Harry's fingers.

 

"Thank you," Harry said as he walked over to the door followed by Draco. “Oh, one last question, is there someplace where we could go and talk alone?” 

 

"The park is just a few blocks east of here. Not many people are sitting there at this time of the morning, and besides, it has a lovely view of the London Eye.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry said as he stepped outside of the building.

 

“Draco?" Janine called.

 

"Remember what we talked about," Janine spoke in her motherly tone as she wagged the room key toward Draco and then in Harry's direction.

 

"Muggles," Draco scoffed and pushed by Harry.

 

"What was she talking about, and how did she know your name?" Harry asked once they were outside and walking along the sidewalk.

 

"Shut up, Potter. She tricked me, saying stupid things until I couldn't think straight. So, yes, she knows my name. What are you going to do? Try a memory charm?"

 

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, frowning, and then shook his head. "No. I won't risk hurting her."

 

"As I thought," Draco snorted, but a tension he hadn't realized was there disappeared. As much as he hated the thought of that woman picturing him and Potter growing old together, he hadn't wanted Potter to hex her.

 

"Just be more careful from now on," Harry said. "Come on, let's try to find someplace to eat, and then find that park to talk about where we need to go."

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A half hour later, the bell above the door jingled, signaling a new customer to Janine. She looked up from her magazine, half expecting to see Harry and Draco standing in front of her once again. Only this time, it wasn't the cute queer boys who stood before her. At first, she thought the stranger was one of those ruggedly handsome types. With his broad shoulders, long hair, and impressive height, he could have been on the cover of a paperback romance. His clothes added to the effect; they looked like something out of a storybook. That impression lasted just until she looked him in the eyes, at which point she decided he'd be more likely to appear in a mug shot than on a book cover. His eyes seemed to look through her skin, as if he were deciding which of her bones to break first. 

 

"What can I do for you?" she said as she closed the magazine with trembling fingers. "Get you a room for the day?"

 

The man stepped forward and withdrew two pictures from the inside of his robes. "Have you seen these two young men?" 

 

Janine peered at the pictures and decided she must be going bonkers; the images seems to move on the paper. She looked from the pictures to the man holding then and pursed her lips. "What's it to you?"

 

"I am…a friend of the family." He tapped Draco's picture with his dirty fingernail. "This one's father asked me to bring him home."

 

"What for? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

 

"It's none of your business, woman," the man said as he bared his yellow teeth.

 

"Alright, look, I don't want any trouble. You look like the kind of guy that can cause a lot of it," Janine said as she slipped her right hand under the edge of the counter and around the handle of the pistol that she kept loaded. "If I tell you where they are, will you promise me that you will not harm them?"

 

"I have no intention of harming either one," he said as he placed the photographs back into his pocket. "Now, where are they?"

 

Janine took a deep breath and licked her lips, stalling as her mind raced. She could guess why Draco's father wanted them brought in; no doubt he disapproved of their relationship and wanted to put his son on a "better" path. Damned if she'd help with that!

 

Unconsciously, Janine's eyes glanced upward and to the left, knowing in her mind that was the direction that Harry and Draco had gone when they left. She hoped that the stranger would not notice her gaffe as she forced her eyes to look to the right, trying not to blink too much. "Room seven. They're still in the room," she said as her right hand slipped under the edge of the counter and gripped the hidden pistol.

 

The man walked to the edge of the counter, and Janine tightened her grip on the gun in case he made a grab for her. Her hand shook, and she wondered if she would even be able to hit him from point blank range. That assumed she could bring herself to pull the trigger. Before she could decide whether to shoot him, the man's vice-like grip was around her hand, pulling it away from the loaded weapon. 

 

"Muffliato," he whispered the gibberish word in a serious voice and then pulled the pistol from under the counter and pointed it at her.

 

"You can have what's in the register!" she told him desperately. "I won't call the police or anything. You can trust me." She backed into the corner, cradling her wrist and wondering if he had broken it with his bare hand.

 

Ignoring her, he pulled down the shades on the windows, and said another nonsense word while facing the door. After he said the word, the lock on the door clicked. She was now sealed in here with that-- that creature. 

 

"You bastard!" She spat at him, spraying the back of his dark, dirty hair with tiny flecks of saliva. 

 

"I have been called much worse," the man said as he ran his hands through his hair where the saliva was. He then brought them to his nose, sniffed, and licked his fingers clean. You see, I know that you are lying to me. I don't need to ask you, because your eyes have already told me." Holding the gun casually in his left hand, the stranger swiped with his right, catching her throat in the same grip that had crushed her wrist. Her lungs strained to pull air through her constricted wind pipe, and each breath burned. "If you tell me what I need to know, truthfully, then I will let you live."

 

Tears streamed down Janine's cheek as she smelled the stench from his breath, and the rancid odor of the man's body and clothing. He reeked of old burned firewood and dried blood. All that Janine could think about were her own sons, and seeing them alive once again. Her arms flailed helplessly. She reached for the gun, but the man's long arms held it just out of reach. "The boys," she squeaked, "they went that way!" she whispered hoarsely, pointing with her left hand.

 

"There, you see," the stranger began as he released her throat and patted her on her back. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" He continued to pat her softly as she cried. The light touch of his hands made her skin crawl. She turned away from him and pressed her forehead to the wall.

 

Janine felt the hand go away from her back, and for a moment she thought that he was about to leave. Before she could say a prayer of thanks, she felt his powerful fingers grip the back of her neck, sending ripples of agony through her body. She reached behind herself trying to dig her, trying to dig her fingernails into any flesh that she could find. "You said you'd let me live!" Her voice came in short bursts as the pressure around her neck increased. 

 

"I lied!" The man whispered as he dragged her toward the counter like a farmer carrying a turkey to the chopping block. He lowered her down so that her face nearly touched the cracked Formica, then jerked back sharply. She had time to draw one painful breath before he thrust forward, crushing her neck against the sharp edge of the counter. She heard a sickening crack, and one final image of the two boys flashed through her mind as the world exploded in shards of light and darkness.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Ugh, Draco! Please try to understand what I am saying to you," Harry said sternly as he ran both of his hands through his hair, tugging in frustration. "It's not that difficult, if only you'd listen to reason and stop being so damn stubborn." Using every scrap of his self-control, he kept his voice low, hoping no one in the park would hear them. They had stopped to sit on a wrought iron bench near one of the jogging paths.

 

Draco crossed his arms and puffed his chest forward. "Say what you want, Potter, but I am not going along with your idea. I wouldn't be caught dead there!" 

 

"If I had that pillow in my hands right now you would be," Harry muttered. 

 

"What did you say?"

 

"Sod it, Malfoy! You heard me!" Harry shouted. Several people who were walking by the arguing couple turned and went the other way.

 

"Stop it, Potter. Look, you are causing people to stare at us," Draco said, his cheeks coloring.

 

"Alright look, one last time, and don't interrupt me!" Harry stated while pointing his finger at Draco. "We have been here for the last forty-five minutes arguing about this, and we have to decide on something. We're almost out of Muggle money, and we can't go into Diagon Alley." 

 

Harry looked around before he leaned closer and lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Knowing your father, he already has someone out looking for us. You know as well as I do that Lucius tried to kill us both. Surely, it would reason that he has sent another Death Eater or a Snatcher out to places that we both know, like my uncle's home and the woods where Ron, Hermione and I were captured." 

 

A quick mental pain flashed through Harry's brain as he remembered the alley where the trio had apparated to and the café in which they had had their first battle with the Death Eaters last year. In his imagination, Harry saw more Death Eaters lurking in the alley and making their way toward McKnight's Emporium. Harry quickly shook his head, ridding himself of those possibilities.

 

"So we stay away from those places," Draco shrugged. "I don't see what's so difficult about that."

 

"And we go where?" Harry asked. "We don't have enough money to keep staying in hotels. You want to sleep in the woods with the dirt and the bugs? Because unless you're prepared to do that, the only place we have left to run is the Burrow."

 

"The Burrow! I think I would rather take my chances fighting off a rabid hippogriff," Draco said, his lip curling in contempt.

 

"Shh…shut up, Malfoy," Harry quickly muttered while peering over Draco's shoulder at the other park bench that had just recently became occupied by a long-haired person in a shapeless black garment. 

 

"What? What is it?" Draco questioned as he twisted around on the bench and looked at the man who had begun to feed the pigeons bread crumbs.

 

Draco scoffed as he turned back to face Harry. "You're mental, Potter! You actually think that old man is following us. Look at him, he's just some crazy guy with a heavy coat on in the middle of the summer. Maybe he thinks it's going to rain?"

 

Harry glared at Draco. "Will you shut up? He'll hear what you're saying," Harry hissed. "Sometimes I think Hermione was right about you being as thickheaded as Ron, if not bloody well worse."

 

Draco's nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, reminding Harry of Lucius, or of Hermione when she was really upset at him and Ron. "Fine!" Draco whispered, "I am tired of playing your stupid, little games, Potter. If you want to run around living in your paranoia, then go ahead, but you're not dragging me into it."

 

Harry coldly stared at Draco before answering. "If you had the darkest wizard trying to kill you since you were a baby, you would be a bit cautious about people just appearing like that around us. Open your eyes, and use your brain, Draco. What Muggle would dress like that in the middle of the summer?"

 

"I tell you what, Potter; there is one way to prove this. I will go over there and confront him, since you are too scared to do it," Draco said as he raised himself off the bench. 

 

Harry grabbed the tail of Draco's shirt to keep him from walking over to the man. "Don't be such an idiot, Malfoy! If you pull your wand on him, here in the middle of a Muggle park you will have every Ministry official and Auror here within five minutes. You could forget the trial and say hello to Azkban this evening, if you do that."

 

"I wasn’t going to pull my wand on him. I was only going to speak to him," Draco hissed.

 

"Oh, yeah, and what were you going to say to him? Hello, excuse me sir but are you a wizard?" Harry asked. "Look, here is what we will do. We will go somewhere else and see if he follows us, preferably someplace crowded where he won't dare make a move."

 

Draco scoffed. "Fine, whatever you want to do. I don't care anymore."

 

"Let's go this way toward the Eye." Harry said as he released Draco's shirt. "Look, just act normal, and don't run. The area around the Eye should be full of tourists, and hopefully we can lose him in the crowd."

 

"It's all nonsense, but whatever Potter, you are just making an arse out of yourself."

 

"Yeah, maybe I am, and maybe I'm not, but I have a bad feeling about that guy," Harry said as he glanced at the strange man that who had finished feeding the pigeons and now sat on the bench, his hands clasped together between his knees, looking down at the green grass. "Come on, let's go."

 

"Go, where? Which direction?" Draco asked as they got up from the bench and proceeded to walk away from the park, and the strange man.

 

"That way," Harry said as he prodded Draco's lower back with hand, "toward the Eye."

 

"What is the London Eye? Another ridiculous Muggle thing?" Draco asked.

 

"It's a big wheel that has compartments that will take you up so you can see a view of all of London, and right now it is the safest place that I know of," Harry said as he walked directly behind Draco.

 

He looked over his shoulder hoping to see that the person was still sitting on the park bench. A mild moment of relief filled Harry when he saw that the man was exactly as had been before. 

 

"Is he still there?" Draco asked as he continued to walk. 

 

"Yeah, for now. Don't look back!" Worried that Draco would ignore his instruction, Harry placed a hand on the back of Draco's neck and clamped down tightly, keeping Draco from turning his head. 

 

"Ouch, Potter, you're pinching!" Draco hissed.

 

"Better to have me hurting your neck, than someone else breaking it."

 

"Fine! I won't look back. Just get your bloody hands off me. People are staring!" Draco scowled, and his cheeks flushed an attractive crimson. Harry relaxed his hand and let it slide down Draco's back, enjoying the contact for as long as he could without eliciting more venom from Draco.  
They continued their walk toward the London Eye, as Harry occasionally glanced backwards to see if the person was following them. With each look, his tension eased. Perhaps Draco was right, and the man had simply been some eccentric Muggle. 

 

"Alright, Draco we can ease up now, he's not following us," Harry said as they slowed their speed to a more normal walk.

 

"You see," Draco started turning on the spot and causing Harry to bump into him. "I told you that you were a paranoid git for thinking that." 

 

"Maybe you were right," Harry shrugged. "Still I'd rather be safe than sorry." Even in this early morning, the crowd was beginning to thicken, and Harry felt a comforting sense of anonymity as he eyed all of the other people in jeans and plain shirts, some of them carrying backpacks like his. 

 

Harry navigated Draco toward a small cobble street that brought the two young wizards to a walking area next to the Thames River, a short distance away from the London Eye. Harry raised a hand to shade his eyes and looked up at the giant Ferris wheel in admiration.

 

Draco looked unimpressed as he tilted his head up to look at the Eye. "I still don't understand the point of that contraption."

 

"It's--" Harry sighed, fumbling for an explanation. "Think about the first time you flew on a broomstick, being able to see for miles, everything on the ground looking tiny--"

 

"My mother yelled 'Come down before you break your neck!' and Father screamed about how it was coming out of my skin if I broke my broomstick," Draco snorted.

 

"Never mind!" Harry shook his head in disgust. "Since we're here, we might as well take a ride on this thing, and at least try to enjoy part of the day. I think we have just enough money for it." 

 

Draco did not reply as his eyes had found something more majestic than the London Eye. He walked to the edge of the wall and looked longingly across the Thames River at Parliament and Big Ben. This was the first time Harry had seen Draco look impressed with something from the Muggle world.

 

"Draco?" Harry said, gently placing his hand on the Slytherin's shoulder. "Did you hear what I said?" Harry smiled, as Draco would not break his gaze from the beautiful building across the water from them. "Hey, come on. We have to go. Besides you'll get a better view from the Eye."

 

Draco broke his stare from Parliament and let his eyes trace the shape of the Ferris wheel. The corners of his mouth twitched upward before he tossed his head and shrugged. "I don't care, but you obviously do, so we'll ride the stupid wheel," Draco said while looking one last time at the building across the river. "And after that, what then?"

 

"And then we find a quiet place to apparate out of here and go to the Burrow," Harry said, lowering his voice.

 

Draco crossed his arms and pouted. "Do we really have to, Potter? I mean, isn’t there any other place that we can go to? What about…," Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. "What about Hogsmeade? Hell, for that matter what about Hogwarts? At least there we would be safe." 

 

Harry thought about this for a moment before answering. "Hogsmeade is one of the places your father will expect us to be, and Hogwarts is closed for the summer. Besides, what do you think McGonagall and the other professors would say if you and I appeared there together?"

 

A genuine smile flashed across Draco's face, lighting up his eyes. "Simple. I would tell them that you lost a Quidditch bet to me, and that you had to do everything that I said."

 

"Everything?" Harry asked, arching his eyebrows upward.

 

"Ugh, Potter, you are a degenerate. What you want to do can stay in your morbid fantasies." 

 

Harry smiled at the thought and at the realization the he had made Draco genuinely smile.

 

His smile faded when he caught a glimpse of a robed man reflected in a shop window. He whirled Draco around and shoved him forward. "Don't say anything, just walk quickly!" Harry hissed into Draco's shoulder. "He's here! I saw his reflection in that store window that we just walked passed, and he was staring right at us."

 

“Keep moving,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear.

 

They approached the boarding area for the Eye and were relieved to see that there was no waiting queue, and that the attendant had his back turned and was flirting with a young woman. 

 

“Alohomora,” Harry whispered, and the door unlocked. They slipped past the young, flirting attendant and closed the door on the compartment, seconds after he turned and closed the queue gate, stopping the pursuing stranger at the entrance.

 

“Sorry mate,” the young man said, “have to get this lot going.” He pressed a button on the control panel as the huge operating wheel began to move.

 

“Look at him. Do you recognize him?” Harry asked as he looked at the man whose upper lip had curled into a definitive snarl. 

 

Draco stared at the man before shaking his head. “No, I‘ve never seen him before.”

 

“He’s not a Death Eater or a Snatcher? Has he ever been to Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked as the glass compartment rose into the air and offered a skyline view of London.

 

“No, Potter! I told you. I’ve never seen him before!” 

 

Harry’s brow furrowed as he looked down at the man standing far below. “Well, someone knows him, and I bet you all the gold in Gringots that it's Lucius.”

 

Draco whirled on the spot. “There you go again, blaming Father for everything. He gets…" Draco took a deep breath and looked away from Harry. He put his palms flat on the glass window and leaned against it. "Father gets…strange when he's been drinking. He says things that he doesn't mean, and he does things he's sorry for later. It doesn't mean he's the next Dark Lord."

 

“Does that include beating his wife, and using Unforgivable Curses on his son? Have you forgotten yet again that your father just tried to kill us? I don't care how much he'd had to drink. A good man doesn't point a wand at his own son and scream 'Avada Kedavra'. It seems to me that he gave you a choice to make back at Grimmauld Place. You decided, and he reacted. When will you get it through that Slytherin brain of yours that he will kill you at the first chance he gets? If you don’t believe that, then when this ride stops, you can get off and find your own way back to Malfoy Manor, or you can take your chances with whoever that is below us.”

 

“Potter, look, I…” Draco started to say, but Harry interrupted.

 

“Damn it Malfoy, I am tired of your indecisiveness! Make up your mind now. You either run back to your mother and father, like a spoiled brat, or else you come with me, for better or for worse.”

 

Harry could see the fuse lit behind Draco’s cool exterior. He did not back down from his tirade, but looking at the anger in Draco’s eyes, he decided to slightly switch his wording. He exhaled deeply and forced himself to unclench his fists, hoping Draco would notice the change in his posture. “I’m sorry that I called you a spoiled brat, Draco, but you have to see things from where I stand. I am offering you something that nobody has ever offered you before.”

 

“And what’s that, Potter? You bleeding, pathetic heart?" 

 

Harry slightly winced, but recovered. “No, not that." Harry forced the words through gritted teeth before continuing in a more reasonable tone of voice. "I am offering you the chance for safety and trust, two things that you never had with Lucius."

 

"And expecting what in return? What do you get out of this?"

 

Harry started to reach for Draco's hand, thought better of it, and instead leaned back against the glass. "What's in it for me? I have everything to gain from this! A life I never knew existed because I was too blind to see it until your letter arrived. Whether you believe it or not, I meant it when I said we were friends. What other reason could I possibly need? Even after everything, you've said and done, I don't want to see you hurt. Ever."

 

Harry felt Draco’s cold stare penetrate his mind, as if he were trying to read it to see if Harry was telling the complete truth. He watched as Draco remained silent, slightly nodding his head.

 

“Alright then," Harry began, “we need to form a quick plan to get away from this guy. From the looks of it, we are over halfway done with our time.”

 

“What do you suggest?” Draco’s voice was thick and hoarse, but extinguished of any anger.

 

Harry looked down, scanning the grounds below for the man that had followed them. “He’s not there!” He went to the other side of the compartment and gazed down. “I don’t see him.”

 

“Maybe he’s gone?” Draco suggested.

 

“I doubt it,” Harry replied. “If he is a dark wizard then he knows what he is doing.”

 

Draco raised his eyebrows in question. 

Harry stopped in mid-thought as he noticed Draco’s expression. “What, didn’t you Death Eaters ever set a trap for anyone, or did you all just rush in with your wands in your hand?”

 

Harry could see the obscenity forming on Draco's seething face as his lips curled, and his fists balled tightly.

 

“Hmm, well I guess I know the answer to that now,” Harry said as he eyed Draco out of the corner of his eyes. “And that could be our way out of here!”

 

“What?” Draco irritably asked as he walked over to where Harry stood against the glass. 

 

“That alley,” Harry said as he nodded toward the building. “It’s not that far away from the queue line. If we can get to it without him finding us, then we can apparate out of here and to the Burrow. If he follows, then at least it will be two against one.”

 

“Fine, it’s your idea,” Draco said as he walked back to the middle of the enclosure, arms crossed against his chest. 

 

“Draco?” Harry called. “Are you still with me? Now is the time to know. The ride is almost over with.”

 

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes at Harry. “Yes, Potter. I am with you. What other choice do I have?”

 

“Good. Now when the ride stops, we will get out and walk over there. I don’t see him, but he probably is still around, so keep your hand on your wand.”

 

“What if he's in the alley?” 

 

“Well that's something that we will have to chance,” Harry said as the ride stopped and the young attendant opened the door to the compartment.

 

The door to the glass compartment opened. “Hope you two enjoyed the ride,” the young attendant said, beaming his customary smile.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry replied absently. 

 

Harry and Draco crossed the walkway and made it to the narrow alley. Even with the sun shining above, the alley was still in full shadow. The contrast between the brightness of the sun-drenched streets and the deeply shaded alley made it hard to see whether someone lurked between the buildings. 

 

“So far, so good,” Harry said as the two made their way further into the alley. “Alright, this is far enough. Now we have to be quick about this, before any Muggles walk by and notice us.”

 

“Just try to keep us in one piece, Potter! I don’t feel like being doctored to by any Weasleys.” A small roar formed in the pit of Harry’s stomach regarding the comment, but he quickly forced the tone of Draco’s words out of his mind, and concentrated on where he was about to apparate to.

 

“Hang on, here we go.” Harry said as he closed his eyes.

 

“You two aren't going anywhere,” a voice said from the shadows. The man from the park bench stepped out from behind several large crates, his wand pointing at Harry and Draco. “Now let go of each other, and keep your hands where I can see them. Any sudden movements and you will regret your decision.”

 

“Who are you?” Draco demanded, as he let go of Harry's hand and took a half step forward toward the stranger.

 

The man lightly chuckled as he stepped closer toward the two young wizards. “Who I am is not important. All that matters is that I have the two of you." 

 

“What do you want with us?” Harry asked.

 

The stranger leered. “Oh, I could get creative if I had the time, but I'd settle for snapping both of your pathetic little necks."

 

Draco's arm was moving slowly toward his wand. “Do you work for my Father?” 

 

“Lucius?” The man paused before he continued. “You could say that I do favors for him, from time to time. If it were up to me, the both of you would be dead right now, just like that red-haired bitch and that old man back at the shop. So be thankful that Lucius wants to see the two of you, alive.”

 

“You murdering bastard!” Harry shouted. “How could you kill two innocent people?” 

 

The man shook his head, sadistically chuckling as he did so. “No, Potter. It wasn’t me that killed them, it was the two of you. Had you not visited those two places, they would still be alive right now, able to live out their miserable existences.”

 

“Enough of your games, who the hell are you?” Draco asked, his right hand twitching.

 

“I am called many names, Blondie, but the name that most wizards know me by is Phillipe."

 

“Phillipe?” Harry snorted as he glanced sideways at Draco. Draco's hand had almost reached its goal. Harry needed to give him more time. Are you French? What happened, they wouldn’t let you into Beauxbatons when you were younger, so you grew up to become a murdering psychopath?”

 

Phillipe’s large hand wrapped around Harry’s throat and pushed him against the brick wall. “If I were you Potter, I would grow some muscles first before you begin talking like that.” To emphasize his point, Phillipe lifted Harry up the wall several inches, his feet dangling as they tried to touch the ground. The pressure around Harry’s neck increased, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if it would burst through his ribcage. Black dots began to appear before his eyes, as he saw Draco reach for his wand and stun the large man.

 

The stunning spell staggered Phillipe and the grip around Harry’s throat released. Harry gulped the fresh air into his lungs, and stumbled over toward Draco. 

 

Once more, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Harry saw Phillipe’s wand ignite as he was about to cast a curse. Draco grabbed Harry and pushed the Gryffindor behind him as he stood in front with his wand aimed at the murderer.

 

“Expecto Patronum!” Draco shouted, and the silver dragon erupted from Draco’s wand and flew toward Phillipe. The patronus’s claws stretched forward, as it raced toward the target. The dragon opened its mouth and a blue flame speared toward the man, narrowly missing him as he dove behind the large crates. Harry quickly grabbed Draco, and the two spun out of sight.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

Phillipe stood up, brushing the dirt from his robes. “So, Potter,” he spat, a slight menace of anger attached to his words, “the two of you live to die another day.” He quickly apparted out of sight before any Muggles or Ministry officials could appear.


	21. My Reason For Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 21 is a shorter chapter than the previous few.  
> I felt that it was time for a small breather, but this chapter is deliciously dark. Also, there is a very good meaning to this chapter that lies behind the words that have been written, and it is most important as this story continues forward.  
> I hope that you all continue to read and enjoy the story.

Chapter 21: My Reason For Being

 

The hard-packed earth yielded under Narcissa's fingernail, a strip of the clay-like material peeling off, just like the shaven dark chocolate she had sometimes used to prepare fancy desserts. She scratched again, deepening the mark on the wall. The mark was the fourth of its kind, and assuming that Kraven's visits happened twice daily, it signified her fourth day of captivity. 

 

Her ritual completed, she turned her back to the wall and crouched down on the balls of her feet near the doorway. Although it exhausted her, she preferred this posture since it kept her poised in case Lucius decided to visit her again. She had planned his next visit a hundred times in her mind, had played it out over and over again. First, the iron door above would creak, alerting her to an impending visitor. She would be able to tell from the sound of the footsteps that it was Lucius and not the house elf. Lucius' steps would be louder and more widely spaced, and when she heard them (if she happened to be across the room), she would race to the door, and crouch as she was now. 

 

The lock on the wooden door would click. She would feel a rush of air as the door swung open and another as it bounced back from the wall. Lucius would step across the threshold, and she would dive at his legs, pulling his feet from underneath him. His head would hit the stone floor, and she would take him by the hair and crack his skull once more to make sure that he stayed down, dazed but not dead. Once she took his wand, the first word past her lips would be “Imperio!” and she would proceed to question him until she found out what he had done with Draco. If her son lived, so would Lucius, although she would leave him locked in here when she apparated into the bright glory of her garden. And if the unthinkable were true, if Draco were dead, Lucius would join him. 

 

Once outside, her eyes would drink in the light along with the colors and smells. She would gulp fresh water from the fountain, and she would use it to scrub off the grime that never seemed to come clean, even with Kraven's cleansing spells. She could finally heal the festering, burning wound on her face, the one Lucius had left four days ago with his ring. When she had asked Kraven to heal it for her, he had sobbed and pounded his own face with his fists, but Lucius' order had won out in the creature's brain; Mistress Narcissa was to be tended but not healed. She would have an ugly scar because of that, and she toyed with the idea of giving her husband one to match. 

 

Time passed. Her feet and ankles went stiff and then numb before giving out under her. When the shriek of the iron door came, it woke her from a light doze, and she raised her head up from the floor, her heart racing with equal parts hope and fear. It would only be Kraven, she told herself, bracing for the disappointing sound of the elf's light, shuffling steps. However, the sound she heard next was the sharp, mistakable thud of Lucius's cane hitting the floor. His footsteps followed, and she felt herself tremble as she rose into her attack position. 

 

The lock clicked, and she smiled in anticipation. She felt a surreal sense of deja vu as the door swung inwards and bounced back, assaulting her with a rush of air that smelled of Lucius' cologne. She lunged at his legs, throwing her weight into the attack. He reeled, cursing, and fell backwards, but before she heard the sound of his body striking the floor, she heard the word “Incarcero.” 

 

Rough ropes bit into her wrists and ankles, and Lucius kicked her in the jaw as he disentangled from her. Her hopes died, and as she had so many times before, she started babbling apologies and excuses, hating herself as each pathetic word came out of her mouth. “Forgive me! I was only throwing myself at your feet to beg for mercy. Please, Lucius! I've learned my place! Release me!” 

 

Something harder and colder than a fist struck her across the cheek, then the back of the head. The next sensation she felt was that of her arms being jerked above her head, pulling her to her feet and then to the tips of her toes. The rope connecting her bound wrists cut more deeply than before, and she felt something metallic bite into her skin. It was the hook, she realized, a gruesome thing that hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. Its chain could be adjusted to various heights, and Lucius had made it so that her toes could touch the floor only if she hyperextended her ankles. Relaxing her feet meant that she hung from her wrists, and her hands were already going dangerously numb. Her muscles spasmed in this unnatural position, and she wondered how long she had hung here before regaining consciousness. She adjusted her weight carefully, trying to strike a delicate balance that spread the force evenly between her wrists and her toes. 

 

“Lumos,” Lucius whispered. 

 

The glow from the tip of his wand burned into her light-deprived eyes so that even when she closed them, the image of her husband's face remained branded into the backs of her eyelids. The light grew more intense, and her arms jerked with the instinct to shield her face. Even squeezing her eyelids as tightly closed as possible did not alleviate the pain.

 

“Please, it's so bright!” she cried. 

 

“It is as if I am truly seeing you for the first time,” Lucius muttered. He jabbed her with what she guessed was the silver cane, making her lose her balance and flop like a caught fish. “I was a fool to overlook your sister's blood treason, to think you would be able to provide me with a strong and noble heir.” 

 

Her stomach knotted. Had he done something to hurt Draco? She feared to ask, as if him saying the words would make them true, and so she stayed silent, flinching as he continued to prod her with the cane. 

 

“You lied, Narcissa!” He punctuated his accusation with a blow across the injured side of her face. “Draco went to the house of Black, but he had no intention of obeying my orders. When Potter refused my offer of alliance, Draco chose to protect him from me.” 

 

“You didn't...” she began, but was unable to finish the question. Her eyes had adjusted to the light enough that she could open them, but Lucius' face told her nothing. 

 

“I pondered about Draco's disobedience, questioning its source.” He turned the head of his silver cane and drew out the blade concealed inside. Silently, he raised the dagger and put the tip of it between her breasts. It traveled downward in a sick parody of a lover's caress, leaving a trail of agony and splitting the front of her gown until the knife point rested just below her navel. “And I realized that this--” he jabbed, deepening the wound and eliciting a scream from Narcissa “-- this is where his deficiency began!” 

 

She twisted to the side, causing the point of the blade to scrape across her belly. Desperately, she balanced on the toes of one foot and aimed a kick at his wrist with the other. Her foot caught the edge of the dagger instead, and another explosion of pain wracked her body. 

 

“What have you done with our son, Lucius?” she panted, gritting her teeth and fighting the pull of oblivion. Black splotches splashed across her vision, growing thicker. Her gown was wet with blood, and her feet were slipping in it. 

 

Lucius sighed dramatically and contorted his face into a caricature of regret. “Draco sealed his own death when he called a Patronus against me.”

 

She didn't believe him. He was lying-- he had to be. “Then tell me...” Her head spun. Glowing motes of light danced with the exploding darkness. “Tell me how he died, Lucius!” 

 

“I've told you enough.” Lucius wiped the dagger on a clean part of her gown and put it away. 

 

She slumped, no longer strong enough to fight for balance when her toes kept sliding in the growing pool of blood. “I'm glad he chose Harry,” she said softly, not caring if saying it spurred him to kill her. Death would mean being reunited with her son. “I'm glad... he followed his heart. I'm proud of him, Lucius! More so than ever.” 

 

“Then you're proud to be a dead man's mother.” Lucius raised the cane again, feinted a blow to her face, and lowered it, smiling at his own petty jest. “Know this-- your usefulness to me is nearly at an end.” 

 

Lucius’ next blow was real, and it landed across her forearm with a reverberating crack. The pain from her other injuries was as nothing compared to the agony of her newly broken arm pulled taught by the weight of her body. Draco, she thought fiercely, my son, my reason for being. Before, Narcissa had used the image of Draco’s face, the smile he wore only for her, to escape from the pain of Lucius’ attacks. Now Lucius had taken even that from her; each time she pictured her son’s face, it was still and ashen, surrounded by the silken padding of a coffin.

 

“Know this, Narcissa--your usefulness to me is nearly at an end.”

 

His words sounded faint and tinny, as distant as all of the other sensations in her body. The pain could almost belong to someone else. She willed the blood to flow more rapidly from the wounds, hoping that Lucius had miscalculated and had delivered a mortal wound by mistake. Her usefulness was nearly at an end-- that meant he still needed her. Joining Draco was the surest way to spite him. 

 

Lucius stood before Narcissa, watching her thrash in place, helpless and whimpering. The ruins of her gown had fallen off of her shoulders, revealing flesh that gleamed like polished white marble in contrast to the crimson gash that ran the length of her torso. The sight of her humiliation stirred him, but he restrained himself. Like Draco, Narcissa was dead to him, a necessary sacrifice. “That's right, Cissy,” he muttered, nodding to himself. “Sacrifice.” 

 

Narcissa's moans became weaker until her body went limp from exhaustion and blood loss. 

 

Lucius stepped closer, being careful to avoid the slightest drop of blood with his boot. Slowly, he reached over and softly caressed Narcissa's face with his gloved hand before lifting her left eyelid and observing the unfocused gaze of her eye. Though she managed not to flinch at the light, her pupil contracted to pinhead diameter. He repeated this process with her right eye before stepping back.

 

"Hmm." The sound escaped Lucius' throat as his right index finger and thumb stroked the silver snake on the cane. "Narcissa," he called. 

 

Lucius hoisted his cane upward and extended it out so that the metal tip of it gently lifted Narcissa's chin upward. Lucius studied his wife's face before again calling her name with more emphasis. "Narcissa!" Once more the elder Malfoy raised his cane, but instead of using it to tilt Narcissa's head up, he brought it down with a smashing thud on her broken arm. Narcissa screamed, and her right arm twitched as it trying to reach her left.

 

"No, no, my dear you are not going to deceive me like that," Lucius said. "You may be weak, but your sacrifice is not yet at hand."

 

Narcissa growled like a caged animal as she flexed her feeble muscles, straining against the bonds.

 

"You are worth more to me alive than you are dead," Lucius said as he coldly smiled at his wife. 

 

"Where is Draco, Lucius?" 

 

"But I've already told you, dear; Draco has made his choice and brought about the natural consequence. Now, if you wish to know all of the answers before you will yourself to a premature death with your son, I would strongly advise you to not attempt any more surprises."

 

"Please, Lucius!" Narcissa sobbed, "Please, tell me, what has happened to my baby?"

 

Lucius slowly walked around Narcissa as she hung there, suspended by the hook. His cold stare measured every inch and curvature of Narcissa's body, as if looking at it in remembrance for a final time. He circled around her twice before coming to a stop inches from her face. "All in due time." Lucius rounded on the balls of his feet and marched out of the room, extinguishing his wand light, and closing both doors, leaving Narcissa to dwell in the dark. 

 

"Kraven!" Lucius called as he exited the stair that led up from the dungeon. The house elf instantly appeared with a small, silver tray of food, along with a glass of water. "Never mind her food. She has had her punishment for the day. Go and tend to her wounds. You will not use any magic to tend to her; you will use your own hands."

 

"Yes, Master," the house elf said as he bowed deeply to Lucius, touching the floor in the process.

 

"Make her…presentable, Kraven. If everything goes to plan, very soon we shall have guests. I would hate for them to seem…unwelcome."

 

"Very good, Master Malfoy," the elf said with another long bow.

 

"When you have finished, come to my study. I have another task for you. Remember what I have told you before, Kraven."

 

Lucius walked away from the house elf before Kraven could bow once more. The house elf turned and walked down the dark stairway muttering to himself. "Kraven must do as Master orders, or else Kraven will suffer a greater punishment than Mistress Narcissa." 

 

Half a minute later Kraven had reached the two doors and opened them with a snap of his fingers. The dim light and fresh air cut through the haze of blood loss and pain, awakening Narcissa from her tortured half-sleep. 

 

"Lucius!" She whispered as the pain of her injuries hit her instantly.

 

"Mistress Narcissa must be very still." Again, Kraven snapped his fingers. Narcissa felt her body float away from the metallic hook, and gently glide down to the cold floor. 

 

"Master Malfoy expects Kraven to work in the dark," the elf grumbled," but Kraven must have enough light to tend to Mistress Narcissa." A third snap of the house elf's fingers elicited a small light that hovered over their heads.

 

"Kraven has been ordered by the Master to tend to your wounds," Kraven said as he snapped his fingers yet again. A bowl filled with a clear liquid appeared as well as a several bandages and soft cloths. 

 

“Just heal me, please!” Narcissa begged. Kraven's magic had brought her instantaneous relief so many times before. 

 

The house elf made a strangled sound and looked down at his oversized feet, which were grimy with a mixture of dirt and Narcissa's blood. “Kraven cannot, Mistress. Kraven's orders are to tend Mistress with Kraven's hands, and not with magic.” With another choked sob, he threw himself at the wall, pounding his head into the hard-packed earth. 

 

“Stop that!” Narcissa sighed as she looked down for the first time, taking note of her wounds. “I-- I rescind my order. Do what you can without magic. Start with my arm. I think he broke it.” 

 

Kraven lightly touched the top of her arm. The sensations caused Narcissa to inhale sharply as the pain traveled through her body and registered in her brain. "With magic, Kraven could mend your bone." His ears drooped, and his nose twitched sorrowfully. "Without magic, it is uncertain."

 

"Try to set it. Grab it and push it back down but before you do place a cloth in my mouth." The house elf did as was ordered, and after a muffled nod from Narcissa, grabbed the broken bone and thrust downward. Narcissa screamed as loud as she could into the cloth while stars sparkled in the light before her eyes. The pain ravaged her body, and she fell to the floor. 

 

Minutes later, her screams subsided, and the house elf helped her into a sitting position once more. Kraven took the cloth from Narcissa's mouth as she whimpered in agony at the burning sensation that ran along her left arm.

 

"Thank you, Kraven," she breathlessly whispered. "My foot next."

 

The house elf looked at the deep gash and winced. "Mistress has a nasty cut on her foot; very deep. Mistress Narcissa should bite down on the cloth once more."

 

Narcissa did as she was asked. Kraven took a smaller cloth and dipped it into the bowl of clear liquid. "This will hurt Mistress," he said as he looked into Narcissa's eyes for approval to continue. Again, another muffled grunt came from her as she braced herself for another round of agony.

 

The house elf placed the soaked cloth on the wound. Narcissa felt as if she wanted to jump through the roof of the dungeon room. She violently shook her head and screamed into the cloth. Kraven re-applied the cloth twice more, making sure to cover the entire wound with the liquid antiseptic. He then wrapped the soaked cloth with a larger one around her foot. 

 

Narcissa removed the cloth from her mouth with her right hand as she breathed through heavy sobs. Tears trailed down her face, stinging as they crossed the wound on her cheek. "Soak another large cloth, Kraven, and hand it to me. I would rather tend to this last one myself." 

 

Her breaths quickened before she pressed the soaked cloth between her breasts and slowly dabbed it along the cut, making sure to hold it just below her navel. She held the cloth in front of her face and noticed how much blood had soaked into it. 

 

"Another one, Kraven," she said, and repeated the process once more. In her mind she recorded every ounce of pain that she was feeling at this moment. If she ever escaped from this room, Lucius would feel the same amount of torture as this.

 

Narcissa repeated this for the next several minutes, each cloth becoming less bloody than the previous. When she had finished, Kraven snapped his fingers and the bloody cloths and antiseptic disappeared only to be replaced by a fresh supply of cloths and another bowl of liquid.

 

"It is only water, Mistress Narcissa," Kraven said. "Kraven must make Mistress Narcissa presentable."

 

"Presentable?" She asked as Kraven wet one of the cloths and began rubbing it across Narcissa's dirty face.

 

"Master Malfoy did not say why, only that Kraven is to do as told," the house elf said while he continued to clean her face. Once he had finished removing the dirt, he snapped his fingers and the tattered remnants of her nightgown were replaced with a loose-fitting, dark green robe.

 

"Lucius. What are you planning now?" Narcissa asked out loud.

 

Kraven stepped back. "Kraven is so sorry that he cannot help Mistress Narcissa any further. Kraven will bring food and water shortly."

 

"Wait a moment, Kraven!" Narcissa said as she reached out toward the house elf. "You can help me, you must!"

 

Kraven folded his arms against his chest, and shook his head. "It is against the rules. Master Malfoy has ordered Kraven only to tend to your wounds, and to bring you food and water. Kraven will obey the Master."

 

"Kraven, please! You are my only chance!"

 

"Kraven is so sorry, but Mistress Malfoy is not of the noble house of Malfoy. Mistress' blood is tainted by the house of Black, a family with blood traitors." 

 

Narcissa recoiled as if she had been slapped. "Kraven, I am a member of this house-the house of Malfoy. It is your binding oath and duty to serve those who are members of this house, blood be damned! I am a Malfoy, and you will show me your loyalty!"

 

Kraven stood in place muttering as Narcissa gently leaned forward on her knees, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that her body was feeling. She wanted to look into Kraven's yellow eyes and to reach the being that existed beneath the magical bonds of a house elf. 

 

She forced her right arm upward, dragging her useless left arm and her bound wrists with it. The pain sent a fresh wave of stars exploding across her field of vision, but she gritted her teeth and bit back the scream that rose in her throat. Her muscles trembling, she moved her hands until they rested on Kraven's, and she wrapped the soft, cold fingers of her right hand around Kraven's rough, calloused paw.

 

"I know that loyalty is a house elf's calling in life. You are loyal to that family whom you serve. I am asking you to look beyond the rules, look beyond blood status, and look with your own heart."

 

She felt Kraven's hand jerk in hers as he tried to free himself from her grip, and she nearly lost consciousness again from the pain. The house elf's eyes darted left and right frantically looking for something with which to punish himself.

 

"Kraven will not listen to Mistress," he said as he began to speak in gibberish and scream as Narcissa tried to calmly talk to him.

 

Narcissa admired the creature's loyalty to his duty, but knew that she had to at least get him to listen to her. "Kraven, please stop that. I order you to stop screaming and listen to me." Immediately, the house elf stopped and went limp in Narcissa's grip.

 

"Thank you," she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I know that you cannot help me, as it is against Lucius' orders, but you can listen to me. Please, think about your loyalty and how it is being used against you right now."

 

She sighed before continuing. "If a husband is a good and loyal man, would he keep his wife as I am? Would a good master punish his house elves, by making them burn their hands in the fire? Or force them to tolerate the constant abuse and insults that Lucius hurls upon you? 

 

"As for myself I have never raised my voice or threatened you in any manner. I have always tried to be very kind and respectful to the house elves at Malfoy Manor. Now, I am going to let go of you, but I need you to stay here until I am finished talking." 

 

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa is correct," Kraven said as he bowed his head down onto his tiny chest.

 

She released the house elf and he stood there waiting on her to speak. "Alright now, Lucius has said that Draco is dead, can you confirm that?"

 

"Master Malfoy has not told Kraven of young Master Draco's demise."

 

A single hopeful thought ran through Narcissa's mind before she continued. "What is Lucius planning?"

 

"Kraven does not have the answers to that question, Mistress."

 

"Has Lucius had any visitors since I have been kept down here?"

 

Kraven swayed for a moment as if hesitating to answer. "Yes. The Master has had visitors." 

 

Narcissa's eyebrow arched upward in a traditional Malfoy swagger. "Really? And what are the names of these visitors?"

 

Kraven began to beat his head upon the stone floor, as Narcissa sat there watching. She knew that all she could do was to continue to speak to the house elf and hope that he would not apparate away. 

 

"Kraven, it is most important that I know the names," she said as Kraven stopped his tantrum.

 

"So sorry but Kraven had to punish himself. Master Malfoy said for Kraven to tend to Mistress and nothing more."

 

"Alright, Lucius, two can play at this game," she muttered to herself before turning to Kraven. "Kraven, I order you not to punish yourself in any manner while you are speaking to me. You must answer my questions truthfully."

 

The house elf folded his arms and looked as if he wanted to run headlong into the dirt-packed wall, but succumbed to his loyalty before answering, "Yes, Mistress Narcissa."

 

"Now, I need to know the name of these visitors?"

 

"Kraven only knows of one because Kraven overheard it earlier today. The name is Phillipe."

 

"Phillipe?" Narcissa said as her mind quickly raced back in time gathering information on the name. "He was sentenced to Nurmengard a number of years ago for killing numerous Muggles. Even the Dark Lord did not grant him his freedom because he could not be trusted. Why would Lucius be working with him now?"

 

"Kraven must be going soon as Kraven is supposed to meet Master Malfoy in the study." The house elf's eyes darted to the door as if he longed for an escape.

 

"Very well. Thank you, Kraven, for your help and for trusting me with your loyalty," Narcissa said as, once again, she bit back the pain and extended her right hand to touch Kraven's arm, stopping him before he could apparate away.

 

"Mistress requires something else?" 

 

"Yes. Could you please leave a damp cloth? Also could you slightly loosen these bonds so that I can wipe away the blood and dirt that is under them?" 

 

Kraven looked very long at Narcissa, almost as if trying to read her mind. "Kraven is not to help free Mistress Narcissa."

 

"You will not be helping to free me, Kraven. I merely want to tend to my wounds that these rope binds have created, and I cannot do that with these as they are." 

 

Narcissa held out her wrists so that Kraven could closely look at the bonds around her wrists. "Master Malfoy did order Kraven to help tend to Mistress Narcissa's wounds. Kraven would not be disobeying an order from the Master," he said as he snapped his fingers. The house elf disappeared, leaving Narcissa to her darkness.

 

The bonds around Narcissa's wrists had loosened enough for her to be able to move. "Thank you, Kraven, you have helped me more than you could possibly imagine," she said as her fingers began the slow and agonizing process of trying to untie the knots.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lucius sat at the large desk and unrolled a small piece of parchment. His eyes scanned the words that were hastily scribbled onto it before twisting it, and placing the tip of the parchment into the candle light. The parchment burned into blackened ashes as Lucius calmly flicked the rest of the parchment into the fireplace. 

 

"Indeed, everything is now ready," Lucius said softly. "Everything that is, except for one final piece." 

 

A small knock came from the door as Lucius straightened in his chair. "Enter," his voice boomed throughout the room. Kraven appeared as the door slowly opened, revealing the office to the small house elf. After motioning for Kraven to approach the desk, Lucius stood up, towering over the house elf. 

 

"You have done what I ordered?" Lucius asked.

 

"Yes, Master. Kraven has done exactly as Master Malfoy has ordered. Kraven has tended to Mistress Narcissa's wounds with Kraven's hands."

 

Lucius smiled, imaging how Narcissa must have begged and pleaded with Kraven, and how she must have felt when denied his help. "Good. Now I order you to carry out one more directive."

 

"Yes, Master. Kraven will do whatever it is that Master Malfoy wants. Kraven must do so, as it is Kraven's loyalty to the Master," Kraven said as he reached out and tried to touch the hem of Lucius' robes.

 

Lucius scowled as if he had been kissed by a diseased animal. "Yes, it is," he commented as he stepped back away from Kraven's reach. "I order you to find Draco.” 

 

“Then Master Draco lives?” Kraven tilted his over-large head and brought his hands together above his breast. “May Kraven inform Mistress Narcissa? Mistress is so worried...”

 

“No!” Lucius barked. “You will leave the Manor without speaking to Narcissa. Search out Draco at all of the likely places he and Potter would go-- Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, the Weasley hovel. Start with those places. Once you find Draco, you will inform him that his mother is injured. You will not tell him the nature of her injuries. Is that completely understood, Kraven?"

 

"Yes, Master," the house elf said with a low bow. 

 

"They will ask you many different questions. You are to answer their questions, but do not reveal the extent of Narcissa's injuries. Once you have convinced Draco that his mother needs him you are to return here quickly. 

 

"Now go, but remember, Kraven, it is in Draco's best interest that he returns home. Do not fail me. I have killed one house elf already, and I have no qualms about killing another."

 

"Kraven will not fail you, Master," the house elf said as he apparated out of sight.

 

Lucius coldly looked at the place where the house elf had been. "I'm counting on that Kraven. Come home Draco!” He raised his arms in an expansive gesture. “Come home to your family."


	22. What I'm Capable Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Ron's good intentions force Harry to reveal the truth, but Harry's revelation fades to the background when Kraven brings dire news to Draco.

Chapter 22: What I'm Capable Of

 

“Don't say it!” Draco snarled, glaring at Harry after the two of them appeared in the Burrow's back garden. “So you were right! He was working for my father, and he almost killed us, and it's my bloody fault because I didn't trust you enough to follow your orders like one of your little Gryffindor lackeys.” 

Harry shook his head. “I wasn't going to say any of that!” 

“Good. Because if you were so sure we were in danger, you should have brought us here in the first place instead of arguing about it.” 

“We survived. That's what matters.” Harry ran a hand over his neck, probing for bruises. The back of his head throbbed from having hit the wall. “What I was actually going to say is that you were amazing. If someone had told me a week ago that Draco Malfoy would call a Patronus, I would have laughed.” 

“What, you think you're the only one who can play hero?”

“No, it's just...” Harry frowned, studying Draco, who had sat down at the base of a sprawling hedge. He lowered himself to the ground beside Draco and leaned back on his hands. “Professor Lupin said that a Patronus is a positive force. To make one, you have to focus on a powerful memory, something good. I didn't know you had it in you, that's all.” 

“As I told you before, you don't know me, Potter.” 

“So what was it, then? What went through your head before the silver dragon appeared? For me, it was seeing my parents in the Mirror of Erised and being able to imagine what it would have been like to have a real family.”

Draco looked away, fidgeting with a branch from one of the hedges. “For me, it was seeing your face when you lost at Quidditch. That's my positive, powerful memory. It made me feel good.”

“If that's true, then I feel sorry for you.” Harry stood and turned to face the house. 

Behind him, he heard the hedges rustle as Draco stood up, followed by a wordless howl and then a curse. 

“What is it now?” Harry asked, turning around to see Draco balancing on one foot as he inspected his bleeding left ankle. 

“Something bit me!” Draco knelt and began riffling through the bushes with his hands, looking for his attacker. Several times, he cursed and drew his hand back, but the repeated injuries only seemed to spur his efforts. After several minutes, he emerged from the bushes, triumphantly holding an ugly humanoid by one of its tiny feet. The gnome was the size of a small house cat and had a long nose and pointy ears which, along with its angry expression, reminded Harry painfully of Kreacher. 

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and looked away from the squirming, naked little man. “Let it go, Draco.” 

“Vile little thing, isn't it?” Draco raised the gnome up so that its inverted face was close to his. “Too bad the Weasleys can't afford a Jarvey. Then you'd get what you deserve!” He shook the gnome, eliciting a string of profanity from the lumpy homunculus. The gnome twisted and thrashed, swinging its fists, one of which landed a blow to Draco's nose. 

Draco cursed and flung the creature into the side of the house where it landed with a loud “smack,” staggered to its feet, and loped away into the hedges. 

“You didn't have to do that,” Harry said, watching as Draco put a hand to his nose to staunch the bleeding. 

Blood oozed between Draco's injured fingers, trickling down his chin and landing in fat drops on his white shirt. “No, I shouldn't have had to do it,” Draco argued, turning his head and seeming to fully take in his surroundings for the first time. “This place is worse than I imagined! Gnomes in the garden, filthy pond in back, and look at the house-- it looks like a scrap heap piled on an old stone pig sty. How long do we have to stay here?” 

“Who said you could stay?” 

At the sound of a familiar female voice, both Harry and Draco turned to see Ginny enter the back garden. 

“Ginny...” Harry forced a smile and then let it fade when he saw that it had no effect on Ginny's narrow-eyed scowl. Not knowing how to greet her, he extended a hand, which she ignored. Feeling foolish, he allowed his hand to fall to his side. “We were being followed--” he started to explain. 

“Probably by aurors if you're with him.” Ginny jerked her chin toward Draco. “Mum and Dad say you're still welcome here, but they didn't say anything about Malfoy.” She raised her wand and pointed it at Draco. 

“The last person who did that regretted it!” Draco's words lost some of their menace as they came out muffled by his hand and had a sickly, wet sound. With his left hand still pressed to his face, he used his right to pull his wand from his pocket and point it at Ginny. 

Quickly, Harry stepped between them, gambling that neither would risk hitting him in the crossfire. 

“It's fine!” Ron called from behind Ginny, jogging toward them. When he reached his sister's side, he put a hand on her arm and squeezed until she lowered her wand. “If he's here with Harry, he's--” Ron cut off, noticing the blood streaming down Draco's chin. His eyes widened and shifted from Draco to Harry and back. “So, did you two, er, have a disagreement, then?” 

“It was one of your stupid garden gnomes.” Draco kicked spitefully at the bushes. 

“Good.” Ron heaved a visible sigh of relief before adding, “Well, good that you're getting along, not good that the gnome got you. If you come inside, Hermione can fix you up.” 

Draco nodded and put his wand away slowly, giving it a meaningful pat and glaring in Ginny's direction.

Ginny spun on her heel and followed Ron, muttering, “I don't understand! Since when are Death Eaters allowed in our house?” 

Ron only shrugged and shot a glance backwards at Harry and Draco, who both followed him toward the front door. 

“What's wrong with Weasley?” Draco asked. 

“Sorry about that. Ginny and I didn't part on good terms.” Harry winced, remembering Ginny's hand connecting with his face. 

Draco shook his head. “I didn't mean her. I meant her brother-- why is he acting like that?” 

“You mean being civil? It's what good people do. You'll get used to it if you stay here long enough, I promise.” Harry stopped and put a hand on Draco's arm, pulling him to a halt. In the doorway, Ron stood with Ginny and Hermione, speaking in a low voice that Harry couldn't hear from this distance. Ginny threw up her hands and shoved past Ron to disappear into the house. Hermione looked from Ron, to Harry, to Draco before motioning for them to come up to the stoop. 

“Just my luck that Granger is here,” Draco grumbled under his breath as they approached the house. 

“Yes, actually, it is lucky for you.” Hermione smiled sweetly, obviously enjoying the fact that Draco winced at being overheard. The four of them entered the house, and Hermione pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down.” She drew her wand, saw that Draco's hand went to his pocket, and rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to hurt you. I've been wanting someone to practice on. You can only learn so much by reading, after all.” 

Harry pulled out a chair for himself, sat down, and pulled out the one next to it for Draco.   
Draco sat down on the very edge of the chair as if wanting as little contact as possible with anything in the Weasleys' house. He nodded to Hermione and gurgled the words, “Do it, then,” through his blood -soaked hand. 

“Right.” Hermione came to stand in front of Draco and pointed her wand at his face. “Vulnera Sanenter,” she intoned in a sing-song voice, her face contorted into an expression of intense concentration. She repeated the words twice more, and the bite wounds on Draco's hands disappeared. 

Draco let his hand fall from his face into his lap and flexed his fingers. “Vulnera Sanenter? A bit of overkill for a bloody nose. Can't resist showing off, can you, Granger?” 

“Thank you, Hermione.” Harry shot Draco an irritated look for having forgotten the courtesy. 

Hermione nodded acknowledgment. She retrieved a towel from a kitchen drawer, moistened it in the sink, and bent over Draco, dabbing at his face. “Honestly, I don't see how a garden gnome could do this to you. They're harmless if you leave them alone, and--” 

“No one asked for a lecture!” Draco snatched the cloth out of her hand and tossed it in the sink. He took his wand out of his pocket, pointed it at himself and said, “Tergeo!” The blood vanished from his face, hands, and shirt, leaving him looking clean and smug. 

Hermione folded her arms and frowned at Harry. “Are you going to tell us why you brought him here? Ron says you have some good reason, but that he can't say what it is.” She gave Ron a look that showed exactly what she thought about his silence, and Ron grinned, clearly pleased with himself for keeping Harry's secret. 

“And what are you doing here?” Draco snorted. “Shouldn't you be back with your Muggle parents playing Nintendo or watching tele or doing whatever it is you pathetic people do?” 

“I'm here because I was invited!” Hermione pulled out the chair across from Draco and sat down in it. “But we're not talking about me. I asked about you. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley will want to know why they should let you stay here, and you had better have a good answer.” 

“Mum and Dad will understand,” Ron promised, flashing a reassuring smile at Harry, then Draco. 

“Potter, why is Weasley looking at us that way?” Draco asked. “And don't say it's what good people do. That's bollocks. I'm a D-- a former Death Eater. 'Good' people point their wands at me and wonder what the hell I'm doing here.” 

Before Harry could answer, Ron said, “It's alright. Harry explained everything to me, and like I told him, I don't care--” 

“We were ambushed at Grimmauld Place,” Harry interrupted loudly. He had decided to ignore Draco's question and instead answer Hermione's. When he was sure he had both Ron and Hermione's attention, he continued, “We had left, and when we returned, Lucius Malfoy was waiting for us in the library. He wanted to offer me a place in his new world order or some such rubbish, and when I refused, he decided to kill me.” 

“How did you make it out?” Ron asked. 

Harry smiled. “Draco was brilliant! It was his Patronus that let us get away. He had to use it again when one of Lucius' goons tracked us down in London. Draco's Patronus knocked him back, and we were able to apparate here.” 

Hermione frowned, and Ron's jaw dropped in disbelief. “You, Malfoy? You can call a Patronus? How? I mean, don't you have to have a happy memory for that?” 

Draco's lip curled. “I remembered how hard I laughed when I saw you dressed up in your grandmother's dress robes, Weasley.”

“That doesn't make sense.” Hermione bit her lip. “A Patronus in incorporeal. It shouldn't be able to knock down a real person.” 

“Maybe my happy memory is just more powerful than most people's,” Draco replied. 

“Your memory of seeing Ron in his grand-- in his dress robes?” Hermione shook her head. “I doubt that.” 

Before Draco could answer, Harry said, “Kreacher also helped us escape. He-- he didn't make it. Lucius killed him.” 

“I'm sorry.” Hermione reached across the table and laid both of her hands over one of Harry's. 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “He was a-- er, he-- you know, it's too bad.” 

“Oh, don't feel sorry for him.” Draco rolled his eyes. “It was Kreacher that betrayed us by letting my father in the house in the first place. If he had done his job and followed Potter's orders, we wouldn't be here now.” 

“It's not that simple!” Hermione argued. “You don't understand what it was like for him--” 

“And I don't care! I've had the killing curse thrown at me, I've had to save Potter from a psychopath, and I've had to wear Muggle clothes, all because of that bloody little elf!” Draco fingered one of the buttons on his shirt, scowling down at it as if it symbolized all of the hardship he had endured. 

Hermione's mouth tightened angrily, and she pulled her hands back from Harry's, closing them into fists. “None of that explains what you were doing at Harry's house in the first place.”

“It's ok, Hermione--” Ron began at the same time Draco said, “That's none of your concern, Granger!” 

Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezed gently. “You can trust them. We're putting Ron's family and Hermione in danger just by being here; they deserve to know everything.” 

“No, they don't.” Draco batted Harry's hand away and shook his head. “They wouldn't understand, anyway.” A pleading note crept into his voice, and he wore the expression that Harry assumed must be precisely calculated to stab through his better judgment.

Harry nodded to Draco. To Ron and Hermione he said, “Draco needed a safe place to stay, and his reasons were good enough for me.” 

Hermione's face softened, and she tilted her head slightly as she regarded Draco. “Does he mean you weren't safe at home?” she asked. Draco didn't answer, but as she scanned his face, she nodded to herself as if he had confirmed her suspicions. “Draco, if you needed a place to stay, you could have come here years ago! None of us would have turned you away if you had come to us for help.” She reached across the table again, but Draco scooted his chair back before she could touch him. 

“Save your sympathy for your stupid house elves, Granger. I don't need it!” 

“Or deserve it,” Ron muttered under his breath. 

“See? I told you, Mum. He's brought Draco Malfoy here!” Ginny's voice came from the fireplace, where she emerged with Molly behind her. Both women carried bulging paper shopping bags, and Molly's had carrot tops and celery stalks sticking out the top of it. 

“Hello, Draco, Harry.” Molly offered a warm smile that almost reached her eyes. She and Ginny sat their bags on the counter top, and Molly began unpacking them while looking over her shoulder at Harry and Draco. 

“Mrs. Weasley,” Draco replied. 

“Aren't you even going to ask them what they're doing here?” Ginny demanded. 

“They can explain over dinner.” Molly had removed the carrots from the sack. She reached into a drawer, found a paring knife, and began peeling the carrots over the sink. “Ginny, why don't you go fetch your father from his workshop?” 

“I'll go with you,” Hermione offered, standing up from the table and taking Ginny's arm. Harry smiled, thinking he knew what Hermione would say on the way to the workshop. He wasn't sure of the exact words, but the general sentiment would involve understanding what Draco had been through and being willing to give him a second chance. 

“You can stay in the twins' room,” Ron offered, glancing up at Molly, who nodded agreement. “I'll show you where it is.” 

Draco rose to follow Ron, and Harry watched them disappear up the stairs. Molly's knife made a rhythmic scraping sound as she worked, and Harry was suddenly aware of the strange stillness in the house. No knitting needles clinked against each other, and the mop and bucket stayed still in the corner instead of dancing across the floor. He considered asking Molly why her house seemed to have lost its magic, but in all fairness, she hadn't asked him about Draco. The least he could do was return the same courtesy. Wordlessly, he went to stand behind her, took the knife from her hand, and began peeling a carrot, leaving Molly free to delve into the cupboards, searching for more tools and ingredients. It felt good to be doing something simple with his hands. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“And that's the upstairs wash room,” Ron explained, opening a door to reveal a glorified closet that sported a sink, toilet, and shower. 

“Rustic,” Draco said dryly. 

“Yeah, well, sorry it's not Malfoy Manor.” 

Draco snorted. “At least it's cleaner than Grimmauld Place.” The corners were free of cobwebs, he had noticed, and though the Burrow had an unmistakable “old building” smell, the musk of earth and aging wood was mixed with the sharp, clean scent of vinegar. 

“And safer,” Ron added. “Even if someone finds you here, you've got all of us to protect you.” 

“And no bloody house elves,” Draco agreed. He followed Ron through another door into a slightly larger closet with two narrow beds and just enough room to walk between them. Shelves above the beds held books, Quidditch trophies, and several framed photographs full of grinning ginger-haired wizards. He imagined the twins growing up here, fighting with their siblings over the wash room and hardly being able to get out of bed without bumping into one another. He would have hated it, he decided. Each day would have been a waking nightmare, worse than staying at Grimmauld Place with Potter. He couldn't understand what the people in the pictures had to smile and laugh about any more than he could understand why Ron Weasley was being so bloody nice to him. 

Some of the pictures smiling down from the shelf showed both of the twins together, and Draco wondered morbidly which face belonged to the deceased Fred. The room was like some sort of shrine, and being forced to sleep here was like having his face rubbed in the past. Perhaps Weasley expected Draco to apologize-- as if the war had been his idea!-- or say something appropriately solemn about his dead brother. He did neither. 

One of the beds sagged and groaned as Ron sat down on it, motioning for Draco to do the same. 

Resisting the urge to cast “Tergeo” on the blankets, Draco perched on the edge of the bed opposite Ron. Narcissa had always speculated that poor people had lice and bed bugs, but then she had also disowned Andromeda, so perhaps she wasn't infallible. 

“Harry doesn't have a father,” Ron began, frowning as if he were working a particularly difficult runes problem. “Or a brother, either. So I guess it's only fitting that I should be the one to-- That is, that I should tell you...” 

“Take your time, Weasley. And use small words. That usually helps.” 

“Yeah, small words.” Ron took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then met Draco's eyes. “If you make Harry happy, then you have my blessing to, er, you know... But if you ever do anything to hurt him...” 

“Yes?” Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, I mean, if you ever-- I don't know! Ginny had four other brothers and Dad. I haven't had a lot of practice at this! But it's supposed to be a threat, right?” 

“A threat?” Draco repeated. “If that's a threat, it's the most pathetic one I've ever received. Even your sister did a better job. At least she had her wand out.” 

“Yeah, but I'm not threatening you now! It's for if you break Harry's heart. That's when I'd get my wand out and I'd--” Ron's brow creased, and Draco could practically hear the gears grinding in his head. “I'd make you remember what it's like to be a ferret!” 

“You might try.” Draco started to laugh, but as he replayed Ron's words in his mind, something set off alarm bells. “What do you mean 'break Potter's heart?'” 

“You know, if things don't work out between the two of you--” 

“There is no 'two of us,' Weasley! And I want to know why you seem to think there is.” Draco's hand hovered over the butt of his wand. A distant voice called from the rational part of his brain, warning him that cursing Weasley now would almost surely land him in Azkaban, get him sent back to Malfoy Manor, or both, but that voice was drowned out by the one screaming for an explanation. 

“Never mind!” Ron threw up both his hands, palms out. “My mistake. I've never been the fastest broom in the sky, just ask Hermione! She'll tell you I'm an idiot.”

“For once, I agree with Granger.” Draco let his hands fall to his sides. Something Weasley had said earlier echoed in his head: Harry explained everything to me. It wasn't Weasley that Draco wanted to wring answers from, it was Potter. He followed Ron back down the stairs to find Arthur Weasley seated across from Harry. 

“Draco!” Arthur rose from the table and extended a hand, smiling warmly. 

“Mr. Weasley.” Draco took the proffered hand, which was strong and warm and rough with calluses. 

“I see Harry has convinced you to try Muggle clothing,” Arthur observed as he sat down, indicating for Draco to do the same. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Potter smirking, and he didn't need to be a Legilimens to know that Harry's head was filled with visions of a stuck zipper and a tiny washroom stall. Draco forced himself to focus on Arthur's face instead of Harry's and willed away the blood that had risen to his cheeks. He hoped Arthur hadn't seen his blush. 

“He said it would help us blend in,” Draco explained. “Fat lot of good it did us!” He sat down between Harry and Ron, who had taken the chair at the end of the table. 

Arthur put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fists. “Tell me about who was following you, Draco.” Seeing the expression on Draco's face, Arthur sighed and turned to Ron. “Ginny and Hermione might need your help de-gnoming the garden.” 

“Need my help? With the mood Ginny's in, I think the gnomes might be the ones who--” Ron glanced at Draco, and then nodded. “Oh, yeah. Alright, then.” 

Once the door slammed shut behind Ron, Arthur focused on Draco once again. The silence was broken only by the jangling of pots and pans as Molly moved about the kitchen like a common house elf. 

“We can better protect you if we know what to expect,” Arthur prompted. “Tell me what started all of this.” 

Draco glowered down at the unfinished wooden table, tracing the cracks and knotholes with his eyes. If he told the truth, he would have to endure the sight of Arthur Weasley looking at him with pity, as if being a Malfoy were a kind of disease, as if he, Draco, were some underprivileged cur. If he lied, Harry would only contradict him, and then Arthur would not only know that Draco had been beaten and cursed, but that he was ashamed to say so. After closing his eyes for a moment, Draco raised his chin and looked Arthur Weasley in the eyes. 

“It started when Father hexed me with the Cruciatus curse,” Draco said flatly. 

An hour later, Harry and Draco had each told everything they knew about Lucius and about Phillipe. Unlike Hermione, neither Arthur nor Molly offered any cloying sympathy, though they occasionally glanced at each other as if sharing a thought to which Draco and Harry were not privy. 

“You have a place to stay for as long as you need it,” Arthur offered.

“It won't be for long!” Draco promised at the same time Harry said, “Thanks.” 

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione returned from the garden and washed up at the sink, and soon the table was set with dishes and food. Draco ate silently, occasionally deflecting the Weasleys' attempts to engage him in talk of Quidditch matches or prod him for his impressions of Muggle London. When they had arrived at the Burrow, Draco had prepared himself for the inevitable disgusting spectacle of Harry and Ginny snogging, but judging from the way the two of them were acting, he would be spared that sight. They could hardly even look at each other, let alone exchange a word. 

When the meal was over, Draco caught Harry's eye and pointed toward the stairwell. Without watching to see if Potter was following, Draco climbed the stairs and made his way to the door of the tiny room that Ron had shown him earlier. He opened the door and stood to the side. Not surprisingly, Potter had followed on his heels and now proceeded him through the door. Moving quickly, Draco entered the room, slammed the door behind him, drew his wand, and whispered “Muffliato!” 

When Harry turned to face him, Draco raised his wand, shouting, “Locomotor Potter!” He felt the spell snap into place, creating a magical connection between Harry's body and Draco's wand. A tiny flick of Draco's wrist lifted Harry so that his head nearly touched the ceiling. Before Potter could reach for his own wand, Draco used his left hand to snatch it and tuck it into his sleeve. A thrusting motion with his right hand forced Harry back against the wall, and Draco closed the distance between them. His left hand wrapped around Harry's throat, and he used his wand to slide Harry down the wall until he hung just above the floor, almost nose-to-nose with Draco. He could feel Harry's pulse accelerating and the muscles in his neck tightening with fear. 

“Draco, why are you doing this?” Harry's body tensed as he fought the spell. 

“Tell me what you told Weasley, about us,” Draco ordered. His fingers tightened their grip. 

“I didn't--” Harry began, looking to the side. 

Draco moved his hand upward, gripped Harry's jaw, and turned his head forward, forcing him to choose between closing his eyes and looking Draco in the face. “You're lying! Weasley threatened to turn me into a ferret if I break your heart--” Harry smirked at that, and Draco squeezed harder, pressing against Harry's jawbone until the tips of his fingers hurt. “--and I want to know why! What did you tell him about us?” 

“I didn't tell him anything about us!” Harry jerked his chin free and managed to drum his feet against the wall. 

“But you told him something, a secret.” Draco's left hand settled back into place on Harry's neck, his palm touching Potter's adam's apple. “Tell me what it was.” 

“No.” His muscles straining with the effort, Harry managed to shake his head almost imperceptibly. “Not like this. Let me down, and I'll tell you.” 

“Tell me now, and I'll let you down,” Draco countered. He took a half-step forward, putting himself hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder with the Gryffindor. His mouth was close to Harry's ear. Even if he released the spell, he would still hold Harry helpless. The feeling was amazing. Each twitch of Potter's squirming body sent thrills through him, though of course it was only the sense of power that Draco found exciting, not Potter's scrawny, unimpressive body or the bulge in the front of his pants. 

“No!” Harry repeated, panting with the effort of his struggles against the spell. His breath was hot and moist in Draco's ear. “You're better than this! I know you are. Just let me down and we can talk!” 

Draco considered his options. With the spell in place, he could do anything to Potter. He could beat the truth out of him and make him pay for every little humiliation, every time a stranger had given them that horrible knowing smirk. He tightened his hand, and he could hear the change in Potter's breathing as well as feel the blood coursing through his arteries. He was suddenly aware that he held something fragile, something he could crush if he wanted to, and the image of one of his mother's roses flashed through his mind. “Fine.” A flick of Draco's wand released Harry, and he fell the short distance to the floor. 

Harry's hand came up to cover Draco's, but instead of trying to peel Draco's fingers from his throat, Harry simply cupped the back of Draco's hand. “Better,” he murmured. His other hand reached into Draco's sleeve, retrieving his wand. 

“What did you tell Weasley?” Draco asked again. His grip on Harry had loosened, but he couldn't make himself back away. 

Harry's thumb moved in small, slow circles on Draco's wrist. “I told him I had feelings for you.” 

Draco broke away from Harry and backed to the opposite end of the room. “Feelings for me!” he scoffed. “You sound like a twelve year old girl.” 

“When Ron saw us together, he must have thought we were...” Harry trailed off, blushing. He sank onto one of the narrow beds and slouched against the wall. 

“Not even with the Imperious curse, Potter.” Instantly, Draco regretted making the joke, as it triggered a fantasy of being forced to please Harry. He would be blameless, no matter what sick, depraved things Potter forced him to do, and instead of making him nauseous, the idea aroused him.

“I wouldn't do that,” Harry said quietly. 

“No, you wouldn't; you think you're too good for dark magic.” Draco shook his head as he looked down at Harry. “You're not as noble as you pretend to be, though, are you? You go on about friendship, but you're the one with an ulterior motive. Would you even be here if you didn't want to shag me?” 

“Would you be here if you weren't running from your father?” 

“At least I was honest about what I wanted from you! Is there anything else you've kept from me?” Draco asked. 

“Just the dream.” 

“What?” 

“The dream-- the one that woke you up and had you running to my room. In the dream, Voldemort told me I had to kill either you or Ginny, but there was more to it than that. The one I didn't kill would become a vessel for my soul. I chose you, Draco. I killed Ginny, and I pulled you up to your feet and kissed you--”

“I'm sorry I asked! Don't tell me things like that. Just don't. I don't want to hear them. I don't care!” Draco kicked the mattress hard and began to pace the room, but the activity did nothing to dissipate the unbearable torrent of emotion raging inside him. He couldn't trust himself to look at Harry; if he did that, he might lose control. 

“Now you're the one who's lying!” Harry laughed humorlessly. 

“Am I, Potter?” Draco stopped and bent forward so that, once again, their faces nearly touched. “Alright. Here's the truth: I'm not like Tonks and Andromeda. I won't shame myself and disgrace my name just so I can fuck who I want to.” 

Harry rose quickly, seized Draco's arm, wrapped his fingers around the Dark Mark, and squeezed. “Your father disgraced your name when he joined Voldemort, and you shamed yourself the day you did this!” He shook Draco's arm for emphasis. “Nothing you do with me could ever be as bad as that. I may be a half-blood and a filthy deviant, but you're the one who's damaged goods, Draco Malfoy. You're the one who would be lucky to have me.” 

Draco wrenched himself from Harry's grip and brushed his left arm with his right hand is if swatting off dirt. He turned and stepped toward the door. With his hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder. “When I marry Pansy Parkinson, I'll invite you to the wedding.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the sound of Draco's footsteps had faded, the floor shook with the thunder of two sets of feet running up the wooden staircase. The door to the bedroom swung open, bounced back, and then opened again, admitting Ron and Hermione, who both raced to Harry's side. 

“We saw Malfoy running out--” Hermione began. 

“-- wouldn't say a word to us!” Ron added. 

“We had to make sure you're alright. You are, aren't you?” Hermione sat down opposite Harry and regarded him as if checking a homework assignment for mistakes. 

Harry considered hexing them both or running out of the room as Draco had, but he felt the perverse need to prove himself better than the Slytherin, and so he forced himself to nod. “I'm fine. He's not dangerous.” He ran his fingers over his neck and jaw, wincing slightly. Phillipe had done most of the damage, but Draco had added a few new bruises. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, the same one Harry had sometimes seen pass between Molly and Arthur. It expressed their mutual disbelief as well as their joint unwillingness to point out Harry's obvious insanity. He hated it. 

“I don't need protection from Draco!” Harry shouted, glaring mostly at Ron, who had sat down beside Hermione. “It's your little speech from this afternoon that has him in his current snit.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Ron shrugged. “When I saw you here with Malfoy, I thought you and he were an item.” 

Hermione looked as if she had just apparated. Her eyes widened as she looked from Harry to Ron and back. “Why would Ron think that, Harry? It's not true, is it?” 

“It's--” Harry sighed, looking at the back of the door and remembering Draco's parting words from a moment ago. “It's complicated. I care for him; he's put his life in my hands, and he's saved mine. It's more than that, though. I'm... drawn to him; I think I always have been.” 

“But this afternoon, he said--” Ron began. 

“I know what he says!” Harry cut him off, not wanting to hear Draco's overdramatic protests second hand. “What he does is another story. There was a moment in a store washroom--” 

“Sounds romantic,” Ron commented, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Hermione, who asked, “What happened?” 

“Nothing, really.” Harry felt his face burning, and he silently cursed himself for bringing up such a private memory. “He threatened and insulted me, actually, but it was...” he waved his hands, frustrated at not finding words. 

“All of this makes so much sense!” Hermione said. “I don't know why I didn't see it before!” 

“Yeah, real obvious!” Ron laughed. 

“It is, though!” Hermione grinned, pleased with herself for having made an observation. “Draco has always been obsessed with Harry, and he couldn't express his real feelings, or the other Slytherins would have done something awful to him. That's why he was so horrible to Harry, and probably why he hated us, too.” Her smile faded, and her eyes misted over as if she were describing the misfortunes of a house elf. “And Harry, well, given his past, it's not surprising that he's drawn to the one person who most abused and degraded him, almost as if he were reliving his childhood.” 

“Or maybe they're both just mental,” Ron mused. “No offense, Harry.” 

Harry frowned at the back of the door. He had tuned out halfway through Hermione's speech, thinking about Draco. “I don't like him being out there alone,” he muttered. 

“He'll be fine as long as he stays inside the wards that Mum and Dad set,” Ron promised.

Hermione stood up and moved toward the door. “I can go talk to him if you want me to.” 

“No!” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “This was hard enough without the two of you meddling, and it's worse now. I'll go find him myself.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged another one of those looks. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” Hermione asked. “No matter how you feel about him, he's still Malfoy.” 

“I thought you would be the one wanting to give him a second chance,” Harry said. 

“I do! Just not if it puts you in danger.” 

“I can take care of myself.” Harry stood and pushed past her in order to reach the door. 

Moments later, he was outside in the front garden, scanning for any sign of Draco in the fading daylight. Harry found him walking circles around the pond, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted down, studying the ground. 

“About what I said...” Harry began. 

Draco ignored him and continued walking. 

“Almost everything you've done,” Harry continued, “I would have done in your place. If my father had been alive, and if he had told me Voldemort's cause was the right one, I would have believed him. I know that. What I don't know is whether I would have been able to see through the lies, to see that what I was doing was wrong. What I mean to say is, I don't know if I would have been as strong as you.” 

“So that's the kind of rubbish you brood about, is it?” Draco snorted. His mouth twitched with what could have been a sneer or a smile. 

“Look, I'm trying to apologize, and to say I do want to be your friend, no matter what ulterior motives you think I have. And if you really want to marry Pansy Parkinson, I'll stand by you at your wedding.” 

“If I marry Pansy Parkinson, do me a favor-- cast the killing curse and put me out of my misery.” This time, the smile was unmistakable. 

“So you didn't mean it.” Harry could hear the relief in his own voice and cursed his own transparency. 

“Oh, don't get your hopes up. I didn't say I was marrying you either.” 

After a long silence, Draco stopped and turned to face Harry. He raised a hand, and Harry had to force himself not to flinch in expectation of being grabbed. To Harry's surprise, Draco ran his fingertips lightly over the tender spots on Harry's jaw and neck. “I couldn't stand you keeping secrets from me, talking to Weasley behind my back about me--” 

“I know.” Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the strange combination of sensations as Draco touched the sore places his earlier tantrum had left. He didn't dare move; anything he did might make Draco decide to push him away again. “I should have told you the truth the night you came to my house.”

“Episkey.” Draco whispered the word, and Harry felt a slight jolt go through him. 

When Harry opened his eyes, he saw Draco lowering his wand. Harry raised his hand to his face, probing for the bruises left by Draco's fingertips, but they were gone, along with the lingering pain from Phillipe's attack. “I didn't know you could do that.”

“Neither did I.” Draco smiled and pulled Harry's hand away so that he could view his accomplishment. “I'm still finding out what I'm capable of.” His hand remained closed around Harry's. 

“Draco!” Ron's voice startled them both. 

Draco flung Harry's hand away and glared at Ron. “Not a word, Weasley. Not a damned word!” 

“I wasn't going to say anything!” Ron held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I just came to tell you that one of the Malfoy house elves is here to see you.” 

Draco swore and began walking rapidly toward the house, forcing Harry and Ron to jog in order to keep up with his long strides. He threw the door open to reveal a cringing, rag-clad house elf surrounded by Arthur, Molly, Ginny, and Hermione. The three Weasleys looked ready to draw their wands if the elf made a sudden move, but Hermione was in the act of offering it tea, which the little creature refused. 

“Kraven!” Draco spat. “What are you doing here?” 

“Master Draco.” The elf bowed low and blinked large, solemn eyes that held none of Kreacher's resentment. “Kraven is to tell Master Draco that Mistress Narcissa is injured.” 

“Injured? How?” Draco asked. 

“Kraven cannot say, Master Draco.” The little elf cringed and wrung his hands. 

Hermione knelt in front of Kraven and looked him in the eyes. “Does that mean you don't know, or were you ordered not to tell us?” 

The house elf looked to Draco and waited for him to nod before answering. “Kraven was ordered to tell Master Draco only that Mistress is injured.” 

“And now Kraven is ordered to tell me what happened to my mother!” Draco said. When Kraven shook his head and began rocking on his heels, Draco continued, “It was my father, wasn't it? You know! You know what happened. You know everything that goes on in that house, and if you don't tell me, I'll--” 

Hermione stood and spun to face Draco. “Don't you dare threaten him!” To Kraven she said, “Can you bring Mrs. Malfoy here so we can help her?” 

“Kraven was ordered not to help her escape, was told he would be killed for helping Mistress.” 

“Yeah, but by telling us she needs help, aren't you--” Ron began, but Hermione silenced him with an elbow to the stomach. 

“Where is she?” Draco demanded. 

“Mistress Narcissa is locked under the parlor in Malfoy Manor.” 

“Then that's where we're going.” Draco reached for Harry's hand and braced himself as if expecting to apparate immediately. 

“We need to think this through,” Harry said. “It could be a trap. We don't even know if he's telling the truth.” 

Molly and Arthur nodded their agreement. “I can have a team of aurors there soon,” Arthur promised. 

“Soon isn't good enough!” Draco dropped Harry's hand and began to pace like a caged animal. 

The house elf made a whimpering sound. “Kraven must return to bring Mistress Narcissa food and water, as he was ordered.” He began to raise his hand, but before he could snap his fingers, Molly cried “Immobilus!” Freezing him like a statue. 

“We can't let him leave,” Molly explained. “He'll go back to Lucius and tell him exactly where Harry is.” 

“But he's the one taking care of Mother!” Draco protested. 

“Or that's an excuse to get us to let him go,” Arthur mused. 

“Fine. Then I'll pay Father a surprise visit. If no one cares enough to help me, I'll take a broom and fly there myself!” Draco pivoted and started for the door, but Harry caught him by the elbows. 

“And if Phillipe is there with him, what will you do then?” Harry asked, his muscles straining with the effort of holding Draco in place. “They'll be prepared for your Patronus this time, they may even have set traps on the Manor. You have no proof that your mother is in danger, Draco! Nothing has changed.” 

“You don't understand!” Draco twisted and jerked, attempting to free himself and landing a few painful blows to Harry's ribs with his elbows. 

Harry leaned close to Draco and spoke in a whisper. “I understand that your mother sent you to me because she trusted me. You told me that the night you came to Grimmauld Place with your luggage case and your sob story. She trusted me to keep you safe, and I'm going to do that, even if it means hexing you.” 

“Let him go, Harry!” Ginny groaned. “He can take my broomstick.” 

Hermione glared at Ginny before moving to stand in front of Draco. “I know you're worried about your mother, but there are six of us, and at least five of us want to help you stay alive. Do you honestly think you can get past all of us?” 

Draco's arms slumped to his sides, and he hung his head. “I'm not bloody stupid, Granger.” 

Harry released him, and Draco immediately bolted for the door. Five wands pointed at him, but Harry was the first to cast a spell. Taking a lesson from Draco himself, he shouted, “Locomotor Malfoy!” and lifted Draco several inches off of the floor. Ron's disarming charm followed soon after, leaving Draco wandless, and suspended in the air. 

“So we're just going to keep Draco and Kraven like this for-- how long was it until Malfoy's trial?” Ron asked. 

“No,” Harry said quickly. “I think we've made our point.” He released the spell and watched as Draco fell to the floor, stumbling and catching himself on the back of a chair. Ron continued to hold Draco's wand alongside his own and seemed in no hurry to return it. 

“Yes, you've made your point. I'm a prisoner, just as much as my mother is.” Draco pulled out a chair and flopped into it. 

“What we need to do is gather information,” Hermione said, looking at Draco. “If Molly releases Kraven, can you order him to stay here before he disappears?” 

Draco nodded. 

Molly raised her wand. “When I give the signal, Draco, you give him the order. Then, with your help, we can question him and find out if he's telling the truth. We'll make sure your mother is safe, I promise.” 

“Not if you don't stop talking!” Draco snapped. “Do it now. I'll give the order when I see him move.” 

Molly flicked her wand, and as Kraven's eyes began to blink, Draco screamed, “Kraven, stay here! That's an order.” 

“As Master Draco orders,” Kraven agreed. 

“Ask him if--” Hermione began. 

“I'll do this my way!” Draco pulled his chair close to Kraven and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists. “Kraven, how badly is my mother injured?” 

Kraven folded himself into a ball. His ears lowered until they clung to the side of his head. 

“Answer me, damn it!” Draco shouted. When Kraven remained oblivious, Draco knelt beside him, lifted one of his ears, and screamed into it. “I said answer me! How badly is she hurt?” 

The house elf whimpered, and his body began to shake. 

“You're worthless!” Draco spun on his heel, paced the length of the room, and knelt in front of Kraven again. “I ordered you to answer my question!” He stood and raised a foot, but before he could land a kick, Hermione put herself between Kraven and Draco. 

“That's enough! He can't answer you, not if your father ordered him not to. Kicking him won't help!” 

“Bollocks! If he doesn't do what I say, he's defective property.” 

“He's not property!” Hermione spat. “He's only being loyal--” 

“No, he's not.” Draco's voice had gone dangerously quiet, and Harry poised himself to step between him and Hermione if necessary. “My mother never once beat him, or ordered him to punish himself, or even screamed at him. And now he won't help me help her because of some bloody spell? Some rubbish code of honor? If it were me taking my father's side, you'd pull your wand on me, but when it's him, you make excuses.” 

“That's because you know better! He doesn't! He can't!” Hermione stamped a foot in frustration. “It's not fair to ask him to--” 

Kraven howled, cutting her off. When his wailing died down, he sobbed, “Master Draco is right! Kraven knows better, knows Mistress Narcissa was always kind to Kraven.” He rose to his full height, which meant that the tips of his ears were level with Draco's navel. After pushing Hermione aside, he tilted his head upwards and met Draco's eyes. “Most of the cuts had stopped bleeding by the time Kraven was ordered to clean them. Mistress Narcissa had a broken arm, and her face--” The elf spread his fingers and cradled his face in his palms. “Kraven is sorry, Master Draco! Kraven wanted to help, but Kraven must do as Master Malfoy orders!” Once the words were out of his mouth, he raised a hand and sank his teeth into his own flesh. Blood streamed from the corners of his mouth. 

“Stop that!” Draco snapped. “It's disgusting. I don't care if you're sorry! Just tell me was it-- was it worse than the other times?” 

Hermione gasped, and Harry met her eyes and shook his head, signaling her to stay silent. 

Kraven nodded. He sobbed and made a wet honking noise, and when he raised his face again, it was a sticky, gleaming mess of tears and mucus. Arthur handed the house elf a handkerchief.

Draco stood and kicked over the chair. When he turned back to Kraven, Harry wondered if he would vent his rage on the house elf, but his fists stayed at his side. “Did my father send you here? Is my mother even injured, or is this a trap?” 

The elf looked like a squirming child in desperate need of a lavatory. “Mistress Narcissa is truly injured, Master Draco. Kraven was ordered to tell Master Draco in order to bring Master Draco home. Kraven was ordered to return immediately after informing Master Draco of Mistress' injuries.” 

Kraven's eyes darted around the room, finding Molly's paring knife lying on a folded towel next to the sink. He lunged for it. Hermione tackled him, but he threw her off, snatched the knife, and thrust it into one of his large, luminous eyes. Not content with having maimed himself, Kraven began to twist the knife, making a horrible, wet sound. His howls of pain mixed with Hermione's cries of protest. Molly and Arthur each grabbed an arm, and Hermione removed the knife before casting Vulnera Sanenter. Her voice shook as she said the spell, but when she had finished, Kraven blinked up at her with two whole orbs. 

“I told you to stop that.” Draco shook his head in contempt. 

“That's too specific,” Harry advised. “It only stopped him from biting his hand. You need to tell him not to punish himself.”

“Fine. Bloody stupid elf! Don't punish yourself, not even if Father tells you to.” 

Molly and Arthur released Kraven, who wiped at the blood with the back of his hand and sniffled. 

“Kraven,” Molly began. “Are Narcissa's injuries life-threatening?” 

“Answer her,” Draco said. 

“Kraven doesn't believe they are.” 

Molly nodded, relieved. “I see no reason to keep him here. If Lucius sent Kraven here, he already knows where to find Harry and Draco.” 

“True,” Draco agreed. “Kraven should go back to get Mother and bring her here.” 

“Are you mental?” Hermione put her arm around the house elf, who had begun to shake and mutter under his breath. “He can't do that! He stuck a knife in his eye just for telling us the truth about your mother's injuries and your father's trap!”

“And I ordered him not to punish himself. That should solve the problem.” 

Hermione shook her head. “It doesn't! If he tries to disobey a direct order, it could get him killed. I won't let you sacrifice his life.” 

“Won't let me?” Draco took a step toward her, and once again, Harry restrained him by grabbing both his arms. 

Arthur moved to stand in front of Draco and put a hand on his shoulder. “If Kraven dies attempting to free Narcissa now, we lose the closest thing to an ally we have. Consider that before you make your decision.” 

Draco shurgged free and sidestepped Arthur and Harry. He pointed a finger at Kraven. “I won't ask you to free Mother, but I'm ordering you to make sure she stays alive, do you understand me?” 

“Kraven understands, Master Draco.” 

“Then go!” Draco waved a hand, and Kraven was gone as quickly as he could snap his fingers. 

“Can we trust anything he said?” Ron wondered aloud.

“That's a good question.” Molly exchanged a glance with Arthur. “You could ask at the Ministry, dear; get someone to go check on Narcissa...”

“I'll take any help I can get,” Draco agreed. “We should go now, before Father does anything worse.” 

Arthur shook his head. “I can start asking around in the morning. And you--” he pointed to Draco, then Harry “-- will stay here. Ron, Ginny, Hermione, you, too.” 

“Yeah, not like I could be of help.” Draco snorted. “I'm just the only person besides my parents who's actually lived in Malfoy Manor.” 

“He has a point, Dad,” Ron said. 

Molly and Arthur exchanged a look, and it was Molly who said, “Draco, you do understand that your father is not the only one who faces trial?” 

Draco shrugged. “I'm not scared. I've got Saint Potter here to clear my name.” 

“Yes, but when you ran away, it gave the wrong impression.” Molly looked down at her hands. “Kingsley's lynx appeared yesterday with the message that the aurors are looking for you. We haven't decided who we can trust. If the wrong people find out you're here...” 

“I'll be hauled to Azkaban until the trial,” Draco finished. “I don't care! If your friends are really the heroes they're made out to be, they'll help me save my mother first. After that, I can survive nine days in prison. It can't be worse than a roach-infested Muggle hotel.” 

“Trust me on this, Draco,” Arthur told him, reaching out a hand, which Draco evaded. 

“'Trust me!'” Draco mocked. “I'm getting tired of hearing that.” He stormed up the stairs, and the vibrations from the slamming door of the twins' room reverberated through the house. 

Hermione stared at the empty staircase. “You don't think he'll do something stupid, do you?” 

“Are you kidding?” Ron replied. “It's Malfoy. I mean, I still have his wand, but even so...”

Suddenly all eyes in the room were on Harry. He sighed and shot a longing glance at the door to the outside. Being in a room with Draco, given his current state of mind, was about as appealing as kissing an Acromantula. “Right. Of course. It's my job to handle him, is it?” 

“You said you didn't need protection from him,” Hermione reminded him. 

Harry ignored her and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He wished that the stairs were a hundred flights long. When he finally reached the twins' room, he opened the door slowly and found Draco perched on the edge of one of the beds, his chin in his hands. Draco's blank stare made Harry want to wave a hand in front of his face, but he fought back the urge and instead sat on the farthest corner of the other bed. 

“And why are you here?” Draco asked, after a long, awkward silence. 

“To make sure you don't do anything stupid.” 

“Fat chance of that! Unless you've brought me my wand, or you're willing to apparate out of here with me. No? I didn't think so.” Draco made a noise that was more sniffle than snort. He scrubbed at his eyes and combined the gesture with swatting at a stray lock of hair. “It's my fault, you know. I should have brought her to Grimmauld Place with me after I hexed Father.” 

“You couldn't have known--”

“Yes, I could. He's done it before-- taking things out on her. I've heard it before, I've seen it before! They didn't know I was watching, but I've seen him do things--” Draco squeezed his eyes closed. 

Harry didn't know what to say. He tried not to think about the room underneath Malfoy Manor or what had been done to Narcissa there. If he thought about it too long, he might be tempted to grab Draco's hand and go, even if it meant getting both of them killed. If I had had the chance, if I could have saved my mother... He shook his head to clear it. That line of thinking had to stop. One of them had to be rational. 

“After your grand revelation earlier, I'm surprised you're not trying to comfort me,” Draco said, sneering half-heartedly.

“I've been throttled twice today. That was enough.” He had meant the words as a joke, but they came out flat and tired. He wondered if, at some impressionable young age, Draco had watched Lucius take Narcissa by the throat and slam her against the wall. That seemed like the kind of thing Hermione would think, and he marveled that even the version of Hermione in his head had the power to irritate him. 

He scooted further back onto the bed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. A moment later, he felt something touch him, and when he opened his eyes, he blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what he saw. Draco Malfoy had moved onto the bed beside him and laid his head in Harry's lap. Harry stroked soft, blonde hair before moving his hand down to squeeze Draco's shoulder. A part of him thought about undoing the buttons on Draco's shirt, and he wanted to punch himself for even thinking that, especially when he could feel the tears soaking through his jeans. 

“We'll get her, I promise,” Harry murmured. Other platitudes followed; he hardly paid attention as the mindlessly reassuring words dribbled out of his own mouth. He could feel Draco's breathing growing more even, more relaxed. 

The doorknob turned with a faint click, and Draco sat bolt upright, quickly running a hand through his hair to put it in place. 

“We're not interrupting anything are we?” Ron asked as the door opened. Something familiar dangled from Ron's hand. It was a giant, pink plastic ear.


	23. The Right Decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 is here. Hope that everyone enjoys this chapter as it really does help to sum up what is about to happen, but is a very good character driven chapter. You really do see the connections between several characters forming. Please, feel free to leave comments and opinions. They are very much welcome.

Chapter 23: The Right Decision

 

“Is that what I think it is?” Draco asked, pointing to the plastic ear. 

“It's a surveillance device,” Hermione answered as she followed Ron into the room and closed the door behind her. 

“Then it's exactly what I think it is. You're sick, both of you, spying on us with your stupid toy--”

“No!” Ron exclaimed. After a moment's pause, he repeated, “No!” more vehemently and shook his head. “I wouldn't want to listen in on what happens between the two of you! Not that anything happens, er, not that it would be bad if it did, I just--” 

“Molly and Arthur are arguing about you, Draco! You might want to listen to what they're saying instead of accusing us of snooping.” Hermione snatched the ear from Ron's hand and thrust it at Draco, who took it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. 

Harry scooted closer and leaned toward the ear as Ron and Hermione sat down on the opposite bunk. 

“--has a right to be involved! It's his own family, Arthur!” Molly's voice came out of the plastic ear, sounding weak and far away. 

“We would never let one of our sons take the same risk. In spite of everything he's done, you know what Draco means to Harry...” 

Draco flushed at that and looked as if he wanted to throw the ear across the room. “What did you do, Potter-- hold a bloody press conference about your feelings?” 

“No, of course not! No one outside this house knows--” 

“Quiet! This isn't the time!” Hermione pressed her finger to her lips and then pointed to the ear.

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it and glared at the ear as Molly's voice said, “--and it's not as if we're truly putting him at risk by taking Draco to the ministry. Harry will clear his name at the trial--”

“Assuming he lives to be tried.” 

“Arthur, what are you not telling me? You've been acting strange for weeks now. Every time I ask you about work, you change the subject and start going on about your Muggle gadgets. Now Draco needs our help, and you're still being evasive.” 

“I didn't want to worry you, not with everything else, with how you've been--” 

“So you didn't think I was strong enough to hear the truth?” Molly's tone reminded Harry all too much of Ginny, and he winced, feeling sorry for Arthur. 

“I-- I'm not sure of anything yet. I wanted to wait before I cast suspicion on anyone from the ministry.” 

“And what is it you suspect?” 

“Someone is cutting corners, making sure that former Death Eaters get eliminated. I've seen the official list of suspected Death Eaters, and it matches too closely with the obituary page in the Daily Prophet. People from the list keep dying in strange ways-- a fire, a drowning, a creature attack. Those people should have been brought to trial.” Arthur's frustrated sigh carried through the ear. 

“You aren't seriously suggesting...” 

“That they were murdered? That someone in the ministry is afraid of Death Eaters being exonerated and is willing to bypass the trial and execute the suspects?” 

“Who?” Molly asked softly. “Who would be willing to do such a thing?” 

“I don't know. I don't know who to trust! That's why I can't let Draco reveal himself to the ministry. His name is on the list, Molly. That's why I have to handle this myself, with as much discretion as possible.”

Draco dropped the ear. “I've heard enough, and none of it surprises me. Of course the self-righteous hypocrites at the ministry will do what it takes to clean up. If we-- if the Death Eaters had won, they would have done the same. There would have been talk about fairness and justice in the morning and a knife in the back of every mud-- every Muggle born and sympathizer the same night.”

“No!” Hermione shook her head. “I don't believe the ministry officials are no better than Death Eaters. Arthur has to be mistaken.” 

“Oh? Then let's go visit Shacklebolt tonight. Clearly, I have nothing to fear...” Draco leaned forward and held out his hand to Hermione. 

She folded her arms across her chest and scooted away. 

Draco let his hand fall and snorted. “No one who claims to serve the greater good has clean hands, Granger. You know that as well as I do. Look at Weasley here, spying on his own parents--” 

“So I could help you!” Ron interrupted. “I'd say finding out that you're on a hit list is a pretty good reason to bend the rules of decency a bit.” 

“Touching.” Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You made my point, by the way. We're all one good reason away from wrongdoing.”

“And you would know that better than anyone,” Hermione muttered. 

The room fell silent, save for the faint voice of Arthur Weasley coming from the plastic ear on the floor. “--get a team of Aurors to visit the Manor tomorrow. I can do that without revealing Draco is at the Burrow.” 

Harry draped a hand over Draco's shoulder and squeezed. “You see? Arthur will get help for your mother. If Lucius and Phillipe are waiting in ambush, the Aurors will spring the trap.”

“Who knew the three of you were such bloody cowards,” Draco snarled. “You're afraid of my father, afraid of the ministry. Where's all that Gryffindor courage?” 

“Maybe he's right--” Ron began. 

“No!” Harry cut Ron off and tugged on Draco's shoulder, turning him so that they could look each other in the eyes. “It's not a question of courage. It's a question of what I'm willing to risk. I won't put you in danger.” 

“I'm in danger of losing what's left of my family, Potter!” Draco stood and kicked the ear across the room. “Do you know how much I loathe asking you, asking all of you, for help? It sickens me, and I hate it, but not as much as I hate the thought of my mother in that dark, dirty place he's keeping her.” 

“She's safe enough for now,” Hermione assured him. “Think about it! If he wanted her dead, he could have killed her by now. He's using her as bait to get you to come home. That means he still needs her alive.” 

Not that we have proof she is alive, Harry thought. He exchanged a glance with Ron that showed his friend was thinking the same, but for once Ron had the good sense to stay silent. 

Draco appeared to accept Hermione's reasoning. He sat back down beside Harry and nodded slowly. “And Kraven should follow the order to keep her alive. He's not like Potter's wretched, senile excuse for a house elf.” 

Ron reached into his sleeve and withdrew Draco's wand. “You can have this back now. Right?” he glanced at Harry as if seeking permission, but before Harry could answer, Draco snatched the wand out of his hand. 

Draco ran a finger up and down the wand, a faraway look in his eyes. “I'll give Arthur the chance to visit Malfoy Manor tomorrow, but if my father really has hurt her as badly as Kraven said, I'm going after him myself. Some people don't deserve a trial.” 

\---------------------------------------------

Blue eyes scanned the pages of a book, and a silver glass sat upon the desk, cradled by the long, slender fingers of Lucius Malfoy. His left hand balanced the old book as he continued reading. Concentrating on the contents of what he read, Lucius did not see the silver mist float through the study room window and coalesce upon the desk. The silver mist shaped itself into the form of a large cobra, its hood sprouting outward, and its body rising upward. The movement caught Lucius' attention, and he snapped the book shut, focusing on the reptilian specter that awaited his attention.

"Luciusss," the soft voice hissed, as the cobra flicked its tongue outward. "Arthur Weasssley and two Aurorsss are preparing to leave the Minissstry. Make hassste."  
“Arthur Weasley?” Lucius dropped the book and quickly downed the contents of the glass before discarding it, too. “This is unacceptable. Delay him--” Lucius began, but the Patronus had already dissipated. “Kraven!” Lucius bellowed. 

The house elf apparated into the room and bowed. "Master Malfoy has called for Kraven?"

"Yes. It appears we are about to host an unwelcome guest. Bring Narcissa to the living room, now!"

\----------------------------------------

Minutes later, Narcissa stood in the large Malfoy living room, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. The unmistakable echo of Lucius' footsteps followed by the timely crack of his cane upon the floor grew closer as she turned to look at the corridor leading into the living room. Lucius strode into the room and approached Narcissa. His tall, slender frame towered over her as he studied her like a hawk watching a mouse.

A small smirk played at the edges of his mouth, and he reached down and brought Narcissa's bound hands upward. "Ah, you have been busy, haven't you, my dear?" he emphasized his words by tapping his finger against the bonds. "That was a very bad decision, Narcissa." 

"Lucius, please! The bonds-- they were too tight on my wrists. My hands were going numb, I had to do something! Please, dear, I would never try to escape," Narcissa pleaded as she looked at Lucius, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Please do not hurt me again, I beg of you."

Lucius quickly looked from the bonds down into Kraven's yellow eyes. "Is this your doing?"

"Mistress asked Kraven to loosen the bonds so that Mistress could tend to the wounds created by them," Kraven replied as his little hands twisted the edges of the old, ragged garment around his waist. 

"You were supposed to tend to her wounds, not her. You despicable, repulsive…" Lucius violently swept his cane with a marksman's accuracy, and the metal tip landed solidly against the side of the house elf's head, sending the creature tumbling toward the fireplace.

"Lucius, please! Kraven was only doing what I asked him to," Narcissa pleaded, reaching for her husband's hands to stop him from taking another swing at Kraven.

"What you asked him to do? He was under a direct order not to help you!" Lucius snarled.

"And then he took a direct order from me." Narcissa smiled, enjoying that small victory. 

Lucius banged the tip of the cane onto the floor in front of him, his eyes darting from Narcissa to a staggering Kraven. "Very well, punishment for this action will be severe, but it will come later. However, currently I both require your cooperation and possess the means of ensuring it, my dear." 

"What?" Narcissa gasped.

"We will soon find ourselves entertaining unwanted guests. They must leave with the impression that nothing here is amiss, which means that, for now, I will release you." Lucius paused before he continued. "I do have one condition, Narcissa. Before I release you from these bonds, you will clearly understand this. If you try to escape, if you reveal any personal information, or if you make any attempt to ask for help, it would be the most regrettable decision that you have ever made." 

"The only regrettable decision that I have made is marrying you, Lucius!"

With the speed of a striking snake, his hand was around her throat, squeezing like a constrictor. "How dare you speak to me in that way!" She gasped as spots began to form before her eyes, and her lungs felt as if they were on fire. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she tried to speak, but she could only produce muttered sounds. "Now, am I clear, Narcissa?" She slightly nodded her head forward.

"Good." Lucius released his grip from her throat and turned toward the house elf. "Take her upstairs to the bedroom, and get her into some decent clothing. And for Merlin's sake be quick about it!"

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Kraven said bowing low to Lucius.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Damn!" Arthur whispered as he looked at his pocket watch. "We've been here almost fifteen minutes since the house elf told us to wait."

"What's he up to, Arthur?" The Auror standing behind Arthur Weasley asked.

"I've no idea, but I would bet you a thousand galleons that it's not anything good. I know Lucius, and he hates guests," Arthur said as he looked at the pocket watch once again. "During the last raid that I took part in here at Malfoy Manor, Lucius and I almost dueled one another. Had it not been for Shacklebolt, we would have."

The door to Malfoy Manor opened. Lucius swiftly stepped in front of the house elf, blocking the men's entrance. He met Arthur's eyes and flashed a small, tight smile.

"Lucius," Arthur said sternly as he slightly nodded his head.

"Well, well," Lucius started. "You, Weasley have a nasty habit of turning up at the wrong time and in the wrong places. Just like a common housefly that will not go away." Lucius inhaled deeply before he continued. "What is it this time, Arthur? Are you here to search for more of the Dark Lord's possessions? Or are you here for yet another raid?"

Arthur could feel his face turning red as his blood began to simmer. He wanted to reply to Lucius' verbal jab, but instead he chose to use a business-like tone. "Actually, Lucius, I'm here to ask for your help with an investigation. If I could ask a few simple questions of you and the rest of your household, it would be immensely helpful.”

Lucius surveyed the two Aurors who stood behind Arthur. "Do you always travel with bodyguards? A new Ministry policy, is it? Or are you too scared to come here alone?"

Arthur swallowed hard, once more electing not to trade quips with Lucius. "They are with me on official Ministry business." 

"Ah, indeed so. You may enter, Arthur. These two will stay here. Your Ministry muscle is not needed inside these walls."

"Very well, Lucius. It is your home." Arthur turned toward the two Aurors and spoke briefly to them before walking inside Malfoy Manor.

"Narcissa, you will find, is in the living room, doing something to pass the time," Lucius said, as he lead Arthur Weasley down a long hallway. 

Portraits of the members of the house Malfoy lined the walls of the corridor. Many of the occupants in the portraits hissed and cursed as Arthur walked past, a number of them rushing into the next frame to hurl more insults at him. Others crossed their arms and turned their backs on him while muttering about how disgraceful it was to have someone like Arthur Weasley setting foot inside Malfoy Manor. 

Arthur looked down, ignoring the dead Malfoys' invectives. Even the floor beneath his feet was a gaudy testament to wealth and egotism. Stretching the full length of the hallway was a thick, rich carpet patterned with a repeating motif of silver serpents on a field of deep green.

The hallway ended, and Arthur followed Lucius down two steps into a living room with a polished marble floor. On the far side of the room, a spiral staircase wound its way up to the higher floors, and a fireplace nearly the size of Molly's kitchen blazed with heatless, illusory flames. Narcissa sat on a large, green sofa with an embroidery hoop on her lap. Her right hand moved slowly, working a long needle with a strand of silver thread. Frowning, she jiggled the hoop with her knee, repositioning the fabric before making her next stitch. Lucius sat down beside her and stretched his arm over the back of the couch.

Arthur studied Narcissa carefully, recalling the house elf's vague description of her injuries. Most of the cuts had stopped bleeding by the time Kraven was ordered to clean them. Mistress Narcissa had a broken arm, and her face- If Narcissa had any cuts, they were hidden by her clothing, healed, or concealed with a glamour. Her face had a thin, haggard look, and she sported dark circles under both eyes, but Arthur could see no swelling or bruises, other than a mottled patch of skin on her left arm.

"Narcissa." Arthur politely nodded, and she replied with a brief glance upward and a curt nod of her own.

"You had questions, Arthur? Ask, and be done," Lucius said as he gestured for Arthur to sit in the chair to his left. 

"Yes." Arthur cleared his throat and removed the cap from his head as he sat down in the uncomfortable chair. "You will not object to me writing down what I learn, will you?" Arthur asked as he took out a quill, parchment and his glasses from his breast pocket. 

"Dear?" Lucius asked as he glanced toward Narcissa from the corner of his eyes.

"No, I have no objections," Narcissa replied as she pulled the thread taut.

Arthur rested his parchment on the arm of his chair and leaned toward Narcissa. “Molly does embroidery,” he lied, keeping his voice casual and friendly. “She uses both hands, though.” 

Narcissa shrugged, and Arthur caught a tightening around her eyes as her left shoulder rolled back. “Perhaps she was taught differently. But you didn't come here to ask about my needlework.” 

"I was only making conversation," Arthur replied flatly. He positioned his left leg on top of his right knee, and placed the parchment into the crook of his left knee. Arthur knew that he was about to ask a number of difficult questions, and he tried to adjust himself comfortably upon the hardened cushion. "I came here to ask about a certain dark wizard." 

"Is that correct, Arthur?" Lucius slyly asked. "When did you begin taking an interest in the Department of Magical Law Enforcment's responsibilities?"

Arthur smiled. "I am doing this as a favor for the Minister. With the rebuilding of Hogwarts still ongoing, there are very few members of the D.M.L.E who have the time to come here." Arthur could feel a single bead of sweat form on his brow, as Lucius fixed him with a cold stare. "The Minister has personally asked me to come here tonight."

Lucius relaxed into the sofa as he raised his right hand upwards, and then let it fall back to the arm of the sofa. "Well then, if the Minister of Magic, personally, asked you then by all means…carry on. We would not want the Minister upset, now would we?"

"Agreed," Arthur replied as he wiped his brow before continuing. "Are you familiar with a dark wizard named Phillipe Moreaux, Lucius?" 

"No, but I have heard of him before, Weasley," Lucius replied while folding his left leg and placing it on his right knee, matching Arthur Weasley's body posture. 

"Narcissa?" Arthur asked while writing down a note on the parchment.

"My husband speaks the truth," she said while slowly placing her right hand over Lucius' left hand, and casting a sideways glance at Lucius. "Neither of us knows of him. We've only heard stories and rumors about the man."

"A few Death Eaters briefly spoke about him," Lucius said before Arthur could continue with his questions. "Why do you ask, Weasley?"

"We have had unconfirmed reports that Phillipe may be back in England. We do know that he is no longer being held a prisoner inside of Nurmengard."

Lucius again waved his hand toward Arthur. "Honestly, Weasley. You dare to come into my home and accuse us of dealing with such a low-life! Even the Dark Lord refused to help him escape when he killed Grindelwald. Why would we even consider associating ourselves with such a morbid character?"

"Strictly business, Lucius," Arthur replied as he scribbled on the parchment. "The Ministry is questioning all Death Eaters, or people who may have any information regarding him."

Lucius scoffed. "You won't find that information here, Weasley."

Arthur could feel the muscle in his jaw tighten, and the pulse in his temple increase as he looked over his glasses at Lucius. "I was only asking a standard question, Lucius. It was not meant to accuse you, Narcissa, or your son of anything."

"And you have your answer. Neither I nor my family has anything to gain by lowering ourselves to wallow in the filth that a man like Phillipe Moreaux creates! I strive only to restore my name, to prove myself through service--"

"Save it, Lucius!" Arthur paused to collect himself before continuing in a calmer tone. "We are not inside the Ministry, and I am not in the mood, nor do I have the time to listen to another one of your bureaucratic speeches." He quickly put his glasses back on the tip of his nose and resumed his inquiry. "Now if you will allow me I have just a few more questions to ask."

Narcissa and Lucius exchanged a glance.

"Yes…here we are," Arthur began as he circled something on the parchment, "Is Draco here, Narcissa?"

Narcissa swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she answered, the words came in one breath, as if they were so painful that she had to get them out all at once. "Draco is not here right now."

"That's a bit odd, isn't it?" Arthur asked while holding the tip of the quill under his chin. "Why would your son not be here in his own home, and with his own parents, when it is very dangerous to be out in the world by himself?"

"My son," Lucius started as he raised his voice to a mild roar. "My son, Weasley, is a Malfoy. He is strong enough to be out on his own; which is more than I can say for your brood."

"I will thank you Malfoy, not to make personal quips about my family," Arthur said raising his voice to match Lucius. "This is strictly Ministry business. Many of us within the Ministry are concerned that a former Death Eater's son would make an inviting target, especially in light of the fact that your family has an upcoming trial in a matter of days," Arthur said as he waggled the quill at both Narcissa and Lucius. "So Draco is not here, at present?" 

"He's gone," Narcissa quickly answered before Lucius could speak.

"Why is he not here?" Arthur asked as he firmly marked something on the parchment. 

Lucius opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Narcissa said, "A few nights ago we had a … a family argument."

"Oh?" Arthur looked up from the parchment. "What sort of an argument?"

"That is a personal matter, Weasley," Lucius hissed. "Do I ask what goes on in that hovel that you call a home? Ministry business or not, that question will not be answered." 

"Very well, Lucius," Arthur said while circling something else on the parchment. "However, tell me, what happened after the argument?"

"How dare you, Arthur! You presume to continue to ask me about personal--" Lucius started.

"Lucius and Draco had a row, and Draco left after that." Narcissa interjected before Lucius could finish. "I--I have not seen my son since that night." 

While Arthur scribbled on the paper, Lucius raised his hand and glanced at an empty corner of the room. “I suggest you end this discussion, now, Narcissa,” he growled through clenched teeth. 

Arthur sighed. Whatever else Narcissa Malfoy was, she was a mother, just like Molly, and she had a mother's worry for her son. He longed to tell her that her son was safe and with friends, or the closest thing to friends that he had ever known. Instead, he focused his attention on her one obvious injury, reminding himself that it was the real reason for his presence. 

"Forgive me for noticing, Narcissa, but that is a very ugly bruise that you have upon your left forearm there," Arthur said.

"What? Oh yes, that," Narcissa said, looking down. Arthur noticed Lucius' hand squeezing his wife's right hand tightly. "You see, after Draco left home, I found myself working in my garden, trying to pass away the time.

"The next morning, after their row, I went to Draco's room hoping that he would be there. His bed had not been slept in, so I went to my garden. Tending to my flowers has always seemed to help occupy my mind when I am worried." A brief sincere smile quickly flashed across her face at the mention of the flowers. "Then, sometime that day, a spider startled me while I was pruning my rose bushes. I tripped and fell onto the pathway, breaking my left arm here." She lightly placed her right hand onto her left arm tracing the area from her wrist toward her elbow. "The bruise is what is left from the injury."

"A very nasty injury, if I may say, but surely you or Lucius would have mended the bone and magically healed the bruise?" Arthur asked as he wrote on the parchment.

"Indeed it was," Narcissa replied. "However, I chose to allow the bruise to heal naturally. It is a reminder of how fragile we all truly are. Sometimes we need to remember what a bit of pain feels like, just to remind us that we are all human. Wouldn't you agree, Arthur?" 

Arthur did not reply as his memory immediately went back to the night inside the Great Hall, as he held the dead body of his son, Fred Weasley. "I find that life provides us with enough reminders, Narcissa. We don't need to make our own." 

He rolled up the parchment and placed it into his pocket. "That takes care of all of the questions. Unless either of you would care to accompany me to the Ministry…" He stood up from his chair and held out a hand to Narcissa, mentally pleading with her to take it, but she recoiled as if he had threatened to strike her. 

With a sigh, he let his hand fall to his side and turned to leave.

"Arthur," Narcissa called. He turned to see Lucius looking down upon his wife, daggers glowing in his clear blue eyes. "If Draco is a --if he is out there, and if you should see him, please tell him that I love him, and that eleven will always be his lucky number." 

Arthur paused for a moment, pondering the cryptic statement.

Finally, he simply nodded his head and placed the wizard's cap back onto his balding head. "Don't bother showing me the way out, Lucius. I can manage on my own." 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

 

Time seemed to pass very slowly as Lucius stared silently at Narcissa until they heard the sound of the front door being shut. At the sound of the latch clicking, Lucius exhaled deeply.

"Well, Narcissa, I must say that you gave me quite a shock there. That was most ingenious of you to send Arthur that little message of yours. Do you honestly believe he understood what you said?"

"In due time, Lucius, the answer will become known," she said as she got up from the sofa and walked over toward the fireplace, sniffling. 

Lucius walked over and firmly grasped her quivering arms as he pressed his chest against her back. "I was afraid, for a moment, that you were going to force me to do something that I did not want to do," he whispered into her ear. "For a second, Narcissa, I had my doubts about your performance."

She turned on the spot, and gazed into his face, fighting back the tears as she tried to remain strong under his demanding force. "Where is our son? If he's truly dead, then let me bury him. Let me say goodbye, Lucius! Not even you could be cruel enough to deny me that." 

The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly, as the words forced their way to the tip of Lucius' tongue. "For the moment, our…son is where you want him to be. With Potter!"

Narcissa quickly closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. It was interrupted by a violent burst of pain that centered on her jaw. Her eyes jerked open as she felt Lucius' strong, vice-like grip squeezing her lower face. "Fear not, though. You'll have a chance to bury him soon enough," he softly hissed into her ear, and then with his right hand motioned to the same empty corner of the room that had occupied his attention during Arthur's visit.

Narcissa heard a light ruffling sound, and was forcefully turned to watch. A shock of dark, greasy hair and a pale forehead seemed to float in the air. Soon a face appeared, and then the neck and torso attached to that face. Within seconds, the empty corner was filled with a large wizard, the folds of what must be an invisibility cloak tangled about his feet. His wand pointed directly at Narcissa, and she realized she was looking at Lucius' means of ensuring her cooperation. The wizard flashed a smile filled with crooked yellow teeth.

“You violated our agreement, Cissy,” Lucius told her. “I asked you not to reveal personal information, and you betrayed my trust. Phillipe?”

"Crucio." Phillipe's dark, husky voice filled her ears as the pain of the curse filled her body. Moments later Narcissa blacked out and collapsed to the floor.

"One, big, happy family, my dear" Lucius said, as he drew his wand.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Arthur Weasley stepped out of the green flames and into the arms of his wife. 

"It's late dear, I was beginning to worry," Molly Weasley said as she brushed away the last big of soot. Arthur kissed his wife on her plump cheek and sat down at the kitchen table. 

"I am sorry, Molly," he said, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger and gently rubbing. 

"It's past midnight. You look exhausted, Arthur. Let me get you a cup of hot tea."

"Thank you, dear, that would be perfect. If we have any fire whiskey, add a drop into it in as well. Is everyone upstairs asleep?"

"I checked not too long ago and everyone was sound asleep," Molly replied as she poured the tea and added a drop of fire whiskey to each cup. 

"Good. Then I suppose it is safe to speak without any Extendable Ears being around?" 

"Yes, I planned ahead and cast a silencing charm over the kitchen, as well as a locking charm on the bedroom doors. I will remove it all once we go to bed," Molly finished as she handed her husband the cup of tea.

Arthur smiled and hugged his wife's midsection with his arm as she stood beside the chair. "That's my Molly-Wobbles."

"Oh, Arthur," Molly replied as she sat down across the table from her husband. "By the look on your face, I take it things did not go well with Lucius?"

"No, Lucius was the same smug, arrogant, lying… person that he always has been," Arthur said as he sipped his tea. "It's everything else that has me so worried."

"What about Narcissa?"

"She was there, in the living room, when I entered. From what I could tell she did not appear to be injured in any way, save for a small bruise on her left arm. She told me that happened in her garden when she fell. I never saw her use that arm, but if it were broken, there should have been more swelling. "

"So the house elf was lying?" 

"That's the question. Do you believe a Death Eater's house elf, or a Death Eater and his wife, whose son is now staying in our home?" Arthur took a long drink of his tea before continuing. "Is the house elf lying on a direct order from Lucius, or did Lucius somehow stage this little conversation. Quite frankly, at the moment, I am willing to believe the house elf. I can't place my finger on it, but something seemed a bit off tonight when I was there in Malfoy Manor."

"Off? What do you mean, dear?"

Arthur finished his tea with a hard gulp, and placed the cup down on the table. "Narcissa didn't appear to be under any spells or curses. Yet there seemed to be this feeling between the two of them that something wasn't quite right. Narcissa seemed afraid, and Lucius kept glancing at an empty corner of the room. I hate to tell Draco, but from a Ministry standpoint there is nothing that can be done. There simply isn't enough proof that Lucius has done anything wrong."

"Arthur, you can't tell him that! You saw how he reacted to the house elf when--"

"Yes, I recall his temper tantrum, but Molly, what would you have me say to him? I can't lie to him, even if I don't entirely trust him."

"Arthur! How can you say--" Molly hissed, but was interrupted.

"Molly, please, I don't want an argument with you tonight. After visiting Malfoy Manor, I find it hard to trust anyone from that place. I can't imagine a child growing up there without ending up damaged. You've seen Draco's behavior; at best, he's barely under control.”

Molly folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I've also seen the way Harry looks at him, and the way he looks at Harry when he doesn't think anyone's watching.” 

“That doesn't mean he's safe or trustworthy!” Arthur sighed and massaged his temples. He had also noticed Draco staring at Harry, and he was not entirely sure whether the Slytherin's slate-blue eyes were filled with desire or malicious intent. In either case, Arthur disliked the thought of Draco sleeping under his roof in the same room with Harry. 

“It means he's human,” Molly said softly. “It means he has a heart."

Arthur stood from the table and walked over to his wife. "Come dear, it's late and we should go to bed. Let's speak to Draco on this in the morning."

\---------------------------------------------------------

Instead of waking in his usual groggy stupor, Draco found himself jolted awake by some half-remembered dream involving his mother's screams and his father's cane. His heart pumped hard, cleansing all traces of sleep from his body. In the dim predawn light, he could just make out Potter's face with its stupidly gaping mouth. He considered throwing something at the Gryffindor so that he wouldn't have to be the only one awake, but that would mean putting up with Potter, and it was too early for that. He tossed aside grainy sheets and musty wool blankets and rose to his knees so that he could peer out the window beside his bed. Outside, a steady downpour came from the clouds above as a low rumble of thunder echoed across countryside. Draco gazed out at the raindrops as his memory traced back to a childhood day that seemed so far in the past. 

He was standing outside in his mother's garden, the rain lightly falling upon his hair. This younger version of Draco was four years old, his mind incapable of perceiving the darkness in the world. He could see his mother tending to her flowers, an umbrella magically hovering above her while she snipped and pruned. Draco could see himself running as fast as his legs would carry him as he zigzagged, and ran in loops and circles, his arms held out from his little body as if he were flying on a broom through the sky. 

"Mother, look!" the small voice squealed with delight. "I can fly through the raindrops!"

Narcissa turned from her flowers and watched her son, her heart beating with pride and happiness. "That's wonderful, Draco!" 

"You think so?" He asked as he came to a stop directly beside Narcissa.

"I know so, love," she said as she lightly ran her fingers through his wet, blond locks. "Someday you will be a great Seeker for Slytherin. Nobody will be as fast or as good as you."

"And one day when I grow up, I will make you and Father so proud of me," the younger Draco said as he leaned close and kissed Narcissa on her cheek. "I promise you that, Mommy."

A singe tear of happiness formed in her left eye as she gently hugged Draco for what seemed like eternity. "Yes, I know you will," she said wiping away the tears upon her face. "Now let's go inside before your father returns home from work."

"Draco?"

The sound of his name brought Draco's mind out of the past. He turned from the raindrops to see Harry sitting up in the bed and putting on his glasses. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm watching it rain outside," Draco scoffed as he pointed at the window.

"I meant what are you doing up? Go back to sleep." 

"Sleep?" Draco hissed as he scrubbed at his eyelids with the backs of his hands. "My eyes feel like some clawed animal has been scratching at them all night long! And the bed! I can't sleep in this bed; it feels like it's stuffed with straw, and that's not the worst part about sleeping here. The worst part is hearing Weaselbee snoring and shouting about spiders through these bloody paper-thin walls!"

"That's enough!" Harry made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a yawn, and it sounded far too close. A moment later, Draco felt Harry's hands on his shoulders and sensed the heat radiating from his body. “The Weasley's have been kinder to you than you deserve, and you know it.” Harry slid his hands down Draco's arms and back up again. “I know you're worried about your mother, but if there were any urgent news, Arthur would have woken you. I'm sure she's fine.” 

Draco froze in place, simultaneously planning to push Harry away and imagining what it would be like if he didn't. His face burned remembering how he had humiliated himself by crying into Potter's lap. Harry's hands had moved so gently through his hair and over his back that Draco had lost himself in the moment until Weasley had come knocking. It would be easy to let it happen again, and this time there would be no one to interrupt. Hating Harry for making him do this, he swung an elbow hard, hitting Potter in the ribs and eliciting a grunt of pain and surprise. 

“Go back to your own bed,” Draco growled. “And stop telling me my mother is fine. You don't know that!” He continued to stare out the window, not bothering to watch Potter slink back to his own sorry excuse for a bed.

"You really want to know what you problem is, Draco?" Harry asked. "You have no control over the situation, and that scares you. It makes you feel weak and powerless."

"I am not weak, Potter!" Draco turned to glare at Harry, who had returned to his bed. Planting his elbow in Harry's chest had required super-human self control. He marveled at the strength it had taken for him to make the right decision when every fiber of his being screamed against it. If Draco were weak, Potter would still be in bed with him, and he could add “sexual deviant” to his list of personal descriptors along with “Death Eater,” “mad man's son,” and “failure.” He couldn't say any of that out loud, of course. Turning back to the window, he whispered, “I am anything but weak.” 

Harry slipped off his glasses and lay back down in the bed with one of his loud, over-dramatic sighs. "We all have vulnerabilities, Draco, even you."

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Harry? Harry!" 

The cheerful but unwelcome voice cut through dreams of soft hair, deep kisses, and entwined bodies. Harry stirred under the blankets, now half awake, his consciousness torn between dream-Draco's clinging embrace and real-Ron's insistent shaking. 

"Huh? What?" Harry muttered as the shaking stopped. He uncovered his head, and could see a blurred form with red hair and long arms standing beside the bed. Once Harry had donned his glasses, Ron Weasley's grinning face came into sharp focus.

"Morning, Harry," Ron said. "Mum wanted me to tell you that breakfast is almost ready. Oh, and you probably should come and do something about Malfoy."

“Yeah, do something about Malfoy,” Harry repeated dully, shaking his head to clear away the remnants of the dream. He rose up in bed, forgetting to notice the morning bulge that showed through the covers as he did so. Ron snickered as Harry quickly changed positions in the bed, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron began, but unable to contain his laughter, "I guess that was a good dream!"

Harry's face ran through three different shades of red. "Sorry, Ron."

"Nah, it's alright Harry, perfectly natural. Besides it happens to all of us, especially in the morning." Ron walked back to the door, slightly giggling. "You'd better quickly douse your fire, and then come deal with 'blondie'. He's being a real prat this morning."

"What's he doing?" Harry asked, rubbing absently at the sore place to the right of his sternum. He had had enough of Draco's sharp, bony elbows, and he promised himself that the next time Malfoy used them, he would get cursed for it.

"Nothing. He won't say anything to anyone. He just sits there at the table ignoring us all. Mum is about to have a right fit. I guess he's not a morning person is he?"

Harry smiled, remembering their pillow fight in the hotel and how angry Draco had been about being woken early. "Yeah, you're right, Ron, he isn't. I'll be down shortly."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Harry marched down the stairs and found Draco sitting at the kitchen table, his lips curled into a tight sneer. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said brightly, although the words came out of his mouth sounding forced and hollow. 

"Morning, Harry, dear," she replied without turning around. She kept her back to the two as she tended a pan of sizzling sausage and eggs.

Harry whipped the chair next to Draco out from under the table, causing it to scrape harshly against the floor. Grabbing Draco's elbow very roughly, he pulled the young wizard toward him. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry hissed. "After everything the Weasley's have done for you, the least you can do is to be civil. You're acting like a prat!"

"Hands off, Potter!' Draco replied as he pried Harry's fingers off one by one. "And don't accuse me of being a prat. I haven't said a word to anyone this morning."

"Exactly my point! Harry renewed his grip on Draco's upper arm. “It's common courtesy to greet your hosts and make polite conversation, or didn't your--” he bit his tongue to stop from saying “your mother,” and continued, “—didn't you learn how to behave like a human being?”  
Hermione, Ron, and Ginny entered the kitchen at that moment. Hermione let out a small gasp as she sat down at the table, Ron and Ginny sitting down beside her and exchanging looks with one another.

"Harry!" Hermione pleaded, "Let Malfoy go. Don't make a scene at the breakfast table, please."

"Hermione," Harry whispered through gritted teeth, "I am not letting him off until he promises to behave himself. He is being disrespectful."

"Still, it's no reason to--" Hermione began, but was interrupted by Ginny leaning across the table.

"Malfoy!" Ginny said aloud. "You may not like us, and that's fine. Honestly, I don't like you either. But know this; you are in our house now, and here, you are outnumbered."

She slowly slid back to her seat, agate-brown eyes meeting Draco's icy blue ones, neither person daring to blink. 

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded, frowning in disapproval.

"Now, that's enough of all of this talk," Mrs. Weasley said coming over to the table with a wooden spatula in her hand. "I am putting an end to all of this right now." She eyed the four at the table, and none of them dared to raise their eyes up to look at her. "Draco, I am sorry if you did not sleep well last night. Today, I will do what I can to the bed so that you rest better tonight."

Draco did not say anything, but only nodded his head. 

"Now for the rest of you, there will be no more threats at the breakfast table," she said waving the spatula at Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione before returning to the oven to continue with preparing breakfast.

"Mrs. Weasley," Draco spoke, but the words were barely audible. 

"Yes?" she asked turning around and giving Draco a warm, motherly gaze.

"Did your husband say anything about my mother last night?"

She stood still for a moment, her smile suddenly gone. "Arthur arrived late last night. He was tired, and he came to bed shortly after coming home. He will be up shortly, and you can ask him then." 

Minutes later Arthur Weasley entered the kitchen and quietly greeted his wife before sinking into the chair beside Ginny. "Good morning," he muttered, briefly making eye contact with everyone but Draco. 

"Good Morning, Mr. Weasley," Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny replied while Draco uttered the words under his breath.

"Mr. Weasley?" Draco spoke up. "What about my mother?"

Arthur looked at Draco from the head of the table and shifted slightly in his chair before flashing a tired, unconvincing smile. "We will discuss that after breakfast. The first rule of thumb at the Weasley household is no business will be discussed while sitting at the table. Meals are set aside as time for family…and friends," he finished as Mrs. Weasley set a full bowl of scrambled eggs in the center of the table and a plate of sausages beside it. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Breakfast passed without any confrontation; the only sound was that of forks and knives clinking against the breakfast plates. Draco picked at his food, like a cat that was being particular about which individual piece of food to eat. He was greatly surprised at how delicious the food tasted, but with his stomach knotted up, he could only force down a few bites. 

Once they had finished with breakfast, Arthur Weasley wiped his mouth clean before speaking to Draco. "Alright Draco, come into the living room with me."

"Mr. Weasley…" Harry objected.

Arthur flashed a brief smile toward him, before motioning for him to join them. "Alright, Harry you as well, but the rest of you--"

"Blimey, Dad, you know that Harry is going to tell me and 'Mione what's said, and Ginny will probably have the Extendable Ears somewhere." 

"Alright, Ron," Mr. Weasley exhaled deeply. "Everyone come into the living room, but don't interrupt."

Draco and Harry sat on the small two-seat sofa while Arthur sat in the chair to their left. Molly Weasley sat in the chair to the right, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny squeezed onto the sofa that was against the far wall. 

"Alright Draco, here is what I witnessed last night. I did not observe the injuries that Kraven described. When I arrived, Narcissa was in the living room doing some type of embroidery work," Arthur started.

“So, no broken arm then?” Draco relaxed into the sofa, allowing himself to feel some small spark of hope.

Arthur and Molly exchanged a glance. Molly raised her eyebrow and folded her arms across her breasts, causing Arthur to flinch and sigh before answering Draco's question. 

“She had a bruise on her left arm, and she didn't use her left hand for the embroidery, but no, I don't think she had any broken bones, or even the cuts that Kraven described.” 

Draco snorted. “Even I know you can hide injuries with a glamour, and if you never saw her use the arm, you don't know whether it was broken or not!” 

“I asked, Draco. Your mother said she had an accident in her garden.”

“Was he there?” Draco demanded. “Was my father there when you asked?” Arthur nodded, and Draco continued, “Then you can't expect her to answer honestly. She's terrified of him; she always has been! If I had a galleon for every 'accident' she's had in the garden or the kitchen or the washroom, I'd be richer than my father.” 

“Be that as it may, Draco...” Arthur shifted in his seat and placed his right hand over his left sleeve as if preparing to draw his wand. “She refused to leave with me, and I can't order the ministry to remove her by force.” 

“Then order my father detained!” Draco snapped. 

“It's not that easy. Lucius has cooperated with the ministry since he was notified of the impending trial. Arresting him now would violate the law and possibly undermine the trial itself. As far as anyone can prove, your father has committed no crimes since the demise of Voldemort.”

"No new crimes?" Draco repeated incredulously. "What about sending that escaped convict, Phillipe, to hunt me down? Isn't that enough reason to arrest my father?"

"I'm not sure, and right now it wouldn't be a good idea to go to the Ministry and begin searching around for information about Phillipe. I can't reveal the connection between your father and Phillipe without exposing your location. For now, Draco, and I am very sorry to say this, but for now, there is nothing more I or the Ministry can do to help your mother."

"What!" Draco snapped as he sprang from the sofa, suddenly furious.

Arthur held up both his hands, palms facing outward. "Please, hear me out. And sit down."

Draco sat back down on the sofa, his arms crossed. Harry tried to inch closer to him, but Draco shoved him away with a shoulder. "Alright, Mr. Weasley," Draco huffed, "I'm listening."

"Thank you," Arthur replied while wiping away a bead of sweat from his face. "The way that I see it is like this. One possibility is that Kraven was sent here by your father as a way of enticing you back to Malfoy Manor by using your mother as bait. The second possibility is your father sent Kraven here as a spy, and with direct orders to lie to you. The only way to know for sure is by Veritaserum, and that has to be Ministry approved."

Arthur leaned forward to the edge of the cushion, pressing his hands together so that they formed a steeple. "I cannot go to the Minister and ask for an inquiry based upon what one house elf has said. I must have absolute proof. Currently, that does not exist," he said as he raised a finger to stop Draco's protest. "I know what you are going to say, that your father has cursed you and Narcissa with an Unforgivable. I trust that when you are saying this, that it is the truth, but with only your word…"

Arthur scooted his chair close to the sofa and reached forward, covering Draco's balled fists with his warm, rough hands. "Draco, please, I am speaking to you with your best interest in mind. Your family has a trial upcoming in a few days. From what I have seen, your mother is not in any immediate danger. Don't go to Malfoy Manor! More than likely, it is a trap by Lucius to get you there, and then who knows what he may do. Please, stay here where you are safe, at least until the trial. Remember, you are being hunted not only by your father, but by Ministry Aurors as well."

"Draco," Harry said as he touched Draco's shoulder, "please, listen to him." The combination of Arthur's touch and Harry's was cloying, and Draco felt suddenly claustrophobic. He was tired of being pawed and patronized, and for a moment he thought he would have preferred the Cruciatus curse to all of this hand-holding and shoulder-patting. At least Voldemort had trusted him, which was more than Arthur or Harry was willing to do for Draco.

"I won't be safe until Father is locked away, forever," Draco sternly said as he pulled his hands away from Arthur's gentle hold. "And my mother isn't safe now." 

"Very well, Draco, if that is your view of it all," Arthur sighed in defeat. "I cannot stop you from doing anything. I can only give you my advice. Should you decide to leave this home, you will be on your own."

Arthur glanced over at the trio that struggled to squeeze onto the sofa. "Now, as for my children, you two will not assist Draco, should he decide to leave. Is that clear Ginny? Is that clear Ron?"

"Yes, Father," they both robotically answered.

Arthur turned back to Draco, to plead with him one last time. "Draco please, don't try to be a hero. Wait for the trial, and there you can testify against Lucius. Once the Veritaserum is administered, there will be no hiding the truth."

Draco sighed while looking down at the floor, his hands clinched together. He brought his gaze to meet Arthur's and then glanced at Harry, who tightened his grip on Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, please," Harry's voice dropped to a barely-audible whisper. "I don't want to lose you."

Draco felt himself wavering, and of its own volition, one of his hands moved up to cover Harry's hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Weasley, are you sure-- have you told me everything about my mother?” 

Arthur looked down at the floor like a child caught in a lie. “There is one more piece of information. Something she said to me that made no sense. She told me that if I saw you, I should remind you that she loves you and that eleven is your lucky number. Does that mean anything to you?”

Draco heard Harry's cry of pain before he realized that he had squeezed down on Harry's hand. He relaxed his grip and closed his eyes for a moment, reeling as a memory washed over him. “No,” he lied. “It means nothing to me.”

He turned away from Harry and looked at Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sitting across the small room from him. "I leave tonight," Draco said. "I will rescue my mother, with or without your help." He pushed himself up from the sofa and started up the stairs.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "You can't just let him--". 

"Molly, it is his choice." Arthur sighed. "I only hope he has made the right decision."


	24. Strength In Numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was decided to split this next section of the story up into two chapters, rather than have it continue into a large worded chapter.

Chapter 24: Strength In Numbers

 

Harry sprang up from the sofa and started for the stairs only to find himself halted by someone grabbing at his sleeve. He reeled, and when he regained his balance he spun to find Molly clutching a fistful of his robe. 

“Let Draco do what he thinks he has to,” she said, looking defeated, “but don't throw your own life away, too. Lucius has already tried to kill you once. Don't go to him now.” 

His temper flaring, Harry jerked his sleeve from her grip. “Or what?”

“What?” Molly took a step back, looking puzzled and hurt. 

“I said, 'or what?'. What happens if I go? Am I no longer welcome here? Am I no longer part of the family?” 

“I-- I would never-- Molly's eyes teared up. 

“As I thought.” Harry pivoted and headed for the stairs again. 

He heard Hermione muttering in a low voice and was only able to make out the words, “I'm sorry, Molly, Arthur...” A moment later, he heard her feet on the stairs, and her next words were precise and clear. “You sounded like him just now-- absolutely horrible.” 

“I don't appreciate being ordered around.” 

“It's what happens when people care about you, Harry. You can't blame Molly and Arthur for wanting to protect you, not after what they've been through.”

He felt the prickly heat of shame creep from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears, and he glanced back over his shoulder with a sigh. “I don't blame them, but I'm still going, and if you think you can talk me out of it--” 

“No!” Hermione shook her head hard, making her hair spin out in all directions. “I never said you were wrong to help Narcissa, you're just being a prat about it, that's all.” 

They had reached the upper floor and now stood in front of the door to the twins' room. Hermione paused with her hand on the doorknob, fixing Harry with her version of Molly's guilt-inducing scowl.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The rain had intensified over the past few hours, and now it beat against the window as if begging for entrance. Moisture seeped through the half-rotted wood of the sill, the clean rain scent mingling with the musk of old wood. Draco knelt in front of the window and leaned forward until his head touched the glass, finding the cold strangely soothing. Voices came from the other side of the bedroom door, blending with the noise of the storm. 

“So you followed me up here to tell me I'm a prat. Thanks. Good to know.” That was Harry, sounding angry. 

“I didn't follow you up here! I followed Malfoy. You're not the only one who wants to help him.” Hermione Granger's voice grated on Draco's ears, even through the door. 

A moment later, she barged into the room, Harry trailing behind her. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as she sat down on the end of his bed without being invited to do so. The sound of creaking bed springs came from behind him, and he guessed that Harry had also taken a seat. Realizing he wouldn't be rid of Potter or Granger anytime soon, he moved away from the window and sat down beside Harry. 

Hermione tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and flashed a sickeningly cheerful smile. “You don't have to go alone, Draco.” 

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. For some reason, the faces of the old codger at the shop and the nosy muggle woman at the hotel flashed through his mind. He had already envisioned all the ways they could have died, and each imagined demise was more gruesome than the last. Whatever had happened to them, the same could happen to Draco and anyone who came with him now. He met Granger's eyes. “You realize my father would probably like to kill you almost as much as he'd like to kill Potter? And Phillipe--” 

“I'm aware of the danger.” The smug look on Hermione's face made it easier to imagine her as Phillipe's next victim. 

“Good. Because I'm not asking either of you--” Draco pointed to Harry, then Hermione “-- to come, so whatever happens, it isn't my fault.”

“Nothing will happen to any of us.” Harry's promise was spoken in a near-whisper. 

“Not if we make a good plan and follow it,” Hermione agreed. “We need all the information, anything that might be important. Draco, when Arthur gave you the message from your mother, you looked like someone kicked you in the stomach. What did she mean about eleven being your lucky number?”

“It was a code.” Draco forced out each word, hating that he had to explain himself. “She wanted me to use it if I ever needed protection from my father.” He glanced at Hermione and felt his face heat with a mixture of shame and anger. “Don't look at me that way, Granger!” 

“I wasn't!” Hermione protested, but her eyes had a thick sheen of moisture, and she sniffled loudly.

“Go on,” Harry prompted. “Tell us what the code means.” 

“Fine.” Draco stood and resumed his position in front of the window. As he told the story, the night of his eleventh birthday played out in his mind. 

Draco made his way down the hall, squaring his shoulders in imitation of his father's authoritative swagger. He refused to sulk, and he forbade himself to cry. He would simply march down the stairs, find his parents, and demand to know why they had forgotten him on this important day. They would realize their error, of course, and then they would order the house elves to prepare a feast. The three of them would spend the rest of the evening together, perhaps playing a game, or Mother would read aloud, and Draco would pretend to enjoy it, even though he was far too old for such childish things. It would be--

He paused at the top of the staircase, his reverie broken by the sound of angry voices. 

“-- so far away from us, Lucius! How can you even consider sending him to Durmstrang?” His mother's voice sounded thick, as if she had been crying. 

Draco crept further down the stairs, moving silently on bare feet. Peering between the wrought iron posts of the banister, he saw his mother clutching an envelope in her hands, holding it to her breast. 

“We have discussed this before, Narcissa! The boy is weak. Hogwarts will only exacerbate the deficiencies in his character.” Lucius tore the envelope from Narcissa's hand and tossed it into the fire. 

Narcissa sobbed into her hands for a moment, and when she raised her face, her cheeks were slick and shiny in the firelight. “At Durmstrang, he will learn only dark magic and cruelty.” 

“Lessons I had to learn through experience. Better he should begin now.” 

“What if-- What if I do not want him to be like you, Lucius? What if I wish for my son to be something more, to be--” 

The silver cane cracked across her face, and Narcissa cried out before falling to her knees. What she said next came out so garbled that Draco could not understand it. Blood flowed from her mouth and into her cupped hands. Draco longed to run to her, to heal her, to cast a spell on his father that would hurt worse than anything, but he remained frozen in place, helpless. His father had magic, spells that could lift Draco off the ground, or throw him across the room, or make him feel like he was being boiled alive. Running to his mother now might make Lucius hurt him in front of her, and that would be worse than any spell or blow. 

“Cissy?” Lucius knelt beside his wife and stroked the back of her hair. “Forgive me. I was... excessive.” 

“I forgot my place,” she murmured. “You reminded me.” 

“Send the boy to Hogwarts if you wish.” Lucius waved a hand magnanimously. “But mark my words, Narcissa, if your son ever disappoints me, if he becomes a weak, cringing coward like you, I will kill you both for it.” With that, he rose to his feet and strode out of the room. 

Draco raced down the spiral staircase. He tripped, plowed into the banister, and felt a nauseating jolt of pain, but he shook it off quickly and continued until he reached his mother's side. She still knelt by the fireplace, and he crouched beside her, holding both of her hands in his. 

“I was clumsy--” she began immediately. Her lips trembled, and a fresh trickle of blood started down her chin. 

“Don't.” He shook his head and looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his father looming over them.

“Draco...” She snatched her hands away from his and grabbed him in a chest-crushing embrace. “I didn't want you to see me like this, not today, of all days.” She sniffled, and something wet and sticky trickled over the top of his head and down the outside of his ear. He hoped it was a tear and not more blood. 

“So you did remember,” Draco muttered, feeling foolish and selfish. 

“Of course! Always! Your father and I were just discussing how proud we both are of you now that you will be starting school soon.” She let him go, stood up, and smoothed the front of her robes, smiling with her rapidly swelling lips. The effect was ghoulish. 

He hated it when she lied to him, but he couldn't bring himself to make her tell the truth. He looked down at his toes and said nothing. 

“Draco...” Her voice dropped low, losing its false brightness. “My son, I must ask you something. It is about your father. Lately, things have been... difficult for him, and I must ask you if he has... If he ever... Draco, has he ever hurt you?”

Draco raised his eyes and met hers. “No. Never.” 

“But the bruise on your leg last week--” 

“From tripping in the garden.” 

“And your wrist a month ago--” 

“From the stairs, as I told you!” Draco sighed and turned away from her, preferring the sight of the pretty flames in the fireplace to that of her still-bleeding face. 

“I need to know you are safe!” she pleaded. “What if we created a-- a secret password, a code between us?” 

Draco nodded slowly to show he was listening. 

“If you ever feel in danger from your father, if you think it's best that we leave the Manor, all you have to say is...” She paused, and he looked over his shoulder to see her frowning and biting her lip in concentration. “How about ‘eleven’? Just say anything about the number eleven, and I will know without you having to tell me anymore. Can you remember that?” 

“I'll remember,” he promised, although at the same time, he promised that he would never use the secret code word. Tattling on his father would surely count as disappointing him, and then both Draco and Narcissa would be dead. He turned and took his mother's hands again. “Mother, I want you to know that I don't care where I go to school. I'll do anything to make you and father happy. I'll become strong and powerful so I can protect you. And I promise--” he swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “I promise I will never disappoint Father.” 

“So she's using the code to tell you that she isn't safe now,” Hermione said when Draco had finished explaining. 

“More than that.” Draco turned around and sank down into a sitting position. “It's a reminder of that day, the threat my father made, and the promise I made. I've broken that promise, and she's paying the price.”

“None of this is your fault!” Hermione shook her head emphatically. “Someone should have protected you and your mother.” 

Draco waved a hand. “It doesn't matter. After today, he's not going to have a chance to hurt anyone ever again. We can apparate into the garden, sneak through a back window, and unlock the dungeon. The two of you can apparate here with my mother while I take care of unfinished business with my father.” 

“That's insane!” Hermione exclaimed. 

“She's right,” Harry agreed. “Hermione can bring Narcissa back here by herself. The two of us will handle Lucius, and Phillipe if he's there.” 

“That's worse! Then the both of you would get sent to Azkaban for murder. I won't agree to that.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “We go in together, we come out together with Narcissa. If Lucius tries to follow us, he'll run into the wards around the Burrow.” 

“Fine.” Draco rolled his eyes and shrugged. Granger could think what she wanted to. When the time came, Lucius would answer for his actions. 

“I should make you swear an unbreakable vow,” Hermione grumbled, glaring at Draco. “I don't trust you not to do something stupid. Harry, talk some sense into him!” 

Draco scoffed as he watched Potter puzzling over what to say. Finally, Harry looked toward Hermione instead of Draco and said, “It's Draco's choice. He has to decide how much he has to lose.” 

The door swung open, causing Draco to jump at the noise and admitting two more uninvited entrants. Ron Weasley sat down beside Hermione. After closing the door behind her, Ginny cast Muffliato. She remained standing, her back against the door, her arms folded across her chest. 

Ron slipped his hand into Hermione's. “Gin thinks she can put a sleeping jinx on Mum and Dad. When are we going to leave?” 

“Weren't you ordered to stay here and protect your own precious necks?” Draco asked. 

“If Hermione goes, I go, too. Besides, it won't be the worst thing any of us have faced. At least your house isn't full of giant spiders.” 

“Only the kind with two legs,” Ginny muttered.

Draco stood up and rested his back against the rear wall of the room, mimicking Ginny's posture. “What's your stake in this, Weasley? You're the last person I would expect to want to help me.” 

“So I'm not supposed to care that your father is holding an inno-- a relatively innocent person against her will and torturing her? Why wouldn't I want to help? Because Harry would rather snog you than me?” She snorted. 

“Which one of you--” Draco began angrily, but Hermione cut him off. 

“Me. I told her. She has a right to know.” 

“I didn't need to be told. You two couldn't be more obvious!” Ginny rolled her eyes. “As revolting as it is, Harry's insanity is his problem. It has nothing to do with rescuing your mother. And if it were my mum, no one could stop me. You're doing the right thing. That makes you... I don't know what it makes you, but I'm going to help.” 

Draco nodded, not sure what to say. He indulged in a brief fantasy of cursing everyone in this house to oblivion, thus erasing any evidence of Potter's sick obsession with him.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Harry said. 

“We should go find something else to do,” Hermione said. “Molly and Arthur will get suspicious if we're all holed up in here for too much longer. The five of us will meet back here after dark, as soon as Ginny can cast the sleeping spell on Molly and Arthur.” 

The others mumbled agreement and a moment later only Draco and Harry were left in the room. 

“I can leave, too,” Harry offered. 

“You should. I hate the way that ginger slag looked at us, and I can only imagine what she thinks is going on in here.” 

“And since when do you care what Ginny Weasley thinks?” 

“I don't. It's just—” Draco scowled, angry at being caught in a trap. “I thought it was hard being your enemy. It's even worse being your friend.” 

“I could say the same.” Harry stood, exited, and closed the door softly behind him. 

\--------------------------------------------------------

The night air was damp and humid from the day's rain showers. It created a dense mist that hung in the air as Draco and the others apparated just outside the west garden wall. As they regained their balance, the displaced fog swirled around them like a half-formed Patronus. 

"Lumos," a voice whispered into the darkness. Harry's wand tip faintly glowed, giving the group a bit of light to see with. 

"I'll never get used to apparition," Ron commented as he caught himself against the stone wall. "Bloody hell, I thought we were supposed to be inside your mum's garden, Malfoy." 

Draco twisted around and gave Hermione a condescending look. "I didn't bring us here, Weasley. Ask your girlfriend about that." Not bad though, Granger. "Better than Potter's apparition attempts. Maybe he could learn a little bit from you after all."

"Alright, Draco, you've made your point," Harry said. "But you're the one who could learn a few things about apparition. Now, where exactly are we?"

Draco nodded his head toward a wooden door that was built into the stone wall. "That's the door leading into Mother's garden. We can go in through there and then use a kitchen window to get inside. The entrance to the dungeon is down the corridor from the living room."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a look of dread, and Draco remembered the last time the four of them had been at the manor together. Harry and the others had been locked in the dungeon, and Draco had lied when asked to identify Harry, not that anyone had ever thanked him for it.

"Look, I promise you it won't be like last time. We go in and find my mother, and then get out of there. Hopefully, we won't come across Father or Phillipe, but if we do, I'll be ready," Draco said, his voice dropping to a growl at the mention of Lucius.

"Come on," Harry said. "Draco, you lead the way." 

Draco paused, his hand on the wooden door. He had always loathed wizard's chess, but his father had made him learn the game and one of the lessons was coming back to him. Attacking different squares at the same time was generally more effective than concentrating the attack on one square. "Alright, when we are inside, Granger and the Weasleys can wait in the living room. That way they'll have a clear view if Father or Phillipe is coming from either corridor or from upstairs. Potter, you and I will go down into the dungeon and find Mother. Once we have her, we can apparate back to the Burrow and be safe from any attacks."

"Really brilliant, Malfoy!" Ginny interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're just going to split up and let your father, and Merlin knows who else, pick us off? Haven't you ever heard of strength in numbers?"

Draco opened and closed his fists, trying to keep his anger from boiling over. "Alright, Weasley, let's say we do stay together and that Father and Phillipe somehow capture us. Then what? At least in two separate groups, if one is caught, then the other has a chance to get away and come back with help."

"The only way that they can capture us is if you lead us right into a trap. She turned her nose upward, imitating Draco. "'You lot wait in the living room while I take Harry to the dungeon.' Alright, a dungeon. That doesn't sound suspicious at all!"

"How dare you, Weasley!" Draco seethed. "I'm trying to make sure all that all of us, including my mother, get out of here alive!"

"Or you're trying to get Harry into the dungeon so your dad will have what he wants. Why else would you try to separate Harry from us?" Ginny demanded. She had pulled her wand from her pocket and now aimed it at Draco.

"Well, so much for being here to help me. You're not here to do the right thing, you're here because you're a jealous little vixen, and you can't let Potter out of your sight.” Draco scoffed, drawing his own wand, his muscles tightening in anticipation, his eyes fixed on Ginny Weasley's face. The first twitch of her mouth would give him all the warning he needed to deflect her curse and retaliate.

Before Ginny could answer, Harry stepped in front of Draco, blocking his shot, but also shielding him from whatever Ginny had planned to throw at him. Moving slowly, Ron placed a hand on Ginny's shoulder, and Draco felt one of Hermione's cold hands coil around his wrist.

"That's enough!" Harry hissed, glaring at Draco with eyes of green flame. "Draco, put your wand down! Ginny, just back off, now!" Harry pinched her wand between his thumb and forefinger and guided it down until it pointed at the ground.

"How can you trust him enough to follow him into a dungeon?" Ginny asked. "If' he's really trying to save his mum, he deserves our help, but that doesn't mean he's earned our trust. Don't forget, Harry, just a short time ago, he was trying to capture you for his twisted version of the greater good."

"Fine!" Draco shouted, not waiting for Harry to respond. "Is that what the rest of you think as well? Answer me! Do you, Granger, and you, Weasley, think I would turn Potter over to my father?" Draco's voiced cracked as he finished the question. 

Hermione released Draco's wrist and stepped away from him, shaking her head. "No, of course not. I believe everything that you and Harry have said. I am here, with you, to help get your mother to a safe place."

Draco huffed, turned on his heels, and glared at Ron. "And you, Weasley?"

"Well, yeah, exactly what Hermione said," Ron muttered as he shuffled his feet. "Harry's my best friend. If he and Hermione believe what you say, then that's good enough for me. Besides, splitting up the group, to look in two different places, it's like a double attack maneuver in wizards' chess. It makes sense." He glanced briefly at his sister. "I'm sorry, Gin. A good idea's a good idea, no matter…well, you know."

Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder while facing Ginny. "You want to know how I can trust Draco? It's the same reason I can trust you. I care for him, and I know what he's capable of. I also know how dangerous Lucius is, and right now he might be killing Narcissa while we're out here arguing!"

Draco turned and stared at Ginny who stood with, her arms folded across her chest. "Well?" 

Ginny glared at Draco. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice. If I go home, you will call me a snitch and a coward. And I am neither of those." She turned at looked at Ron. "Mum will scream bloody murder if she finds out that we are here." 

Ron snorted as if the remark were humorous, but quickly cleared his throat, trying to be serious. "It will be twenty times worse than the Howler she sent me at Hogwarts."

"Fine! Do we all agree on this, now?" Draco asked as he walked past them and over to the door that led inside to Narcissa's garden. He reached forward and felt the cold metal of the handle slide into the palm of his hand. Draco slowly pulled on the door handle and felt the lock in place. "That's odd. This door is usually unlocked. I wonder…" He hesitated as a memory came flooding back to him.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Ginny snapped.

"I've sneaked in this way before," Draco explained. "Father caught me then. Maybe he expects me to do the same now."

Ginny groaned. "Open the door, or I will blast it open myself."

"You do that, and Father will know for sure that we are here, and exactly where we are!" Draco hissed. 

"Can't one of us levitate and see if there is a trap waiting on the other side?" Hermione asked, biting the top of her lower lip.

"Too risky," Harry answered before Draco could reply. "Lucius may have a Caterwauling Charm set over the entire garden. Any type of unauthorized presence would set the alarm off." Harry watched as Draco released the handle and backed away from the door. "Is there another way into the grounds that we can use?"

"Yes. If Father truly wants me to come home, then I won't disappoint him." The four of them stared at Draco, their mouths slightly agape. "We will go in the front door and say hello to him."

Ginny cleared her throat very loudly, as she stood with her arms folded and her foot slowly tapping in place. "Are you sure you trust him, Harry?" 

"Ginny, don't start that again. For the last time, yes!" Harry growled as they quickly set off toward the front gate of Malfoy Manor.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco led them around the wall and through the thicket of trees that surrounded Malfoy Manor until they reached the tall, black, metal gate of the front entrance. They paused shortly as the black ironwork towered over them glistening from the wetness of the raindrops. 

"You Malfoys always have to do everything bigger and better than anybody else, don't you?" Ron said jokingly. "So what do we do? Just knock on the gate?"

"Ugh, Ronald!" Hermione scolded as she stamped her foot on the ground and slapped the back of Ron's head, splaying his red hair.

"Ouch, 'Mione!" Ron gasped reaching for the back of his head and ducking out of Hermione's reach. "I was only kidding."

"Ron, please now is not the time for one of your jokes," Hermione said.

Draco felt a smile creep across his lips before he remembered that Harry's friends were irritating rather than amusing. The smile faded. "Weasley is right. I have to knock on the gate, but there is also a secret password that has to be said."

Draco reached for his wand and lightly tapped on the gate twice. He closed his eyes and non-verbally said his secret password while touching the gate with his wand. Several silent seconds passed before he opened his eyes and stepped back away from the gate.

Slowly and silently, the large gate opened inward. Carefully, Draco stepped past the gate, anticipating a Caterwauling Charm to alert Lucius of his presence. Assured that there was no alarm, he motioned for the others to join him as the front gate began to close.

"Alright, here is what we will do," Draco began. "First, we go through the front door, and then we quietly ease down the corridor and into the living room. From there, Granger and the Weasley’s will stay and be our lookouts."

"I still say it's a bad idea to split up," Ginny muttered. "None of us should be alone with Malfoy."

"Then I'll go with Harry and Draco," Hermione said. "You and Ron can be the lookouts, and I can heal Narcissa if she needs it."

A loud cry echoed from the sky above, and Draco looked up to see a white bird against the black sky. The bird glided in slow circles as it descended toward them. "Orion!" Draco called, holding out his arm.

A moment later, the eagle's strong talons gripped his forearm, but instead of stretching out his head to be petted, Orion continued flapping his wings, pulling upward.

"That hurts! Stop it!" Draco ordered.

Orion continued flapping and turned his head so that his beak pointed up and toward the manor. After Draco shook him loose, several powerful strokes of his wings took him up near the roof, where he disappeared into a west-facing window.

"Stupid bird!" Draco grumbled.

"Strange," Hermione muttered, frowning up at the window. 

Draco began to walk away from the group and across the grounds toward the front door. "Wait, Draco, before you go any further.” Harry tugged on the back of Draco's robe to stop him and then turned to face the others. "Hermione, if something happens to Draco and me, or if we are attacked, I want you to take Ron and Ginny back to the Burrow. Bring Mr. Weasley here as quickly as you can."

"But, Harry, I…I can help...I can do--" Hermione started.

"No, Hermione. Just do as I ask, please. Take Ron and Ginny to safety."

"Alright, Harry. I'll do as you ask," she said as a tear rolled down her face.

"Thank you," Harry said as he turned back to face Draco. "Alright, let's go." 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

The latch on the front door smoothly unlocked as Draco stepped inside the foyer corridor followed by Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The inside of Malfoy Manor was brightly lit as candles magically hovered in midair, giving the green carpet and walls a fiery glow. 

"Draco Malfoy!" A voice boomed from beside the group. "You've decided to return back to the manor once again."

Draco's blood raced, and he heard startled gasps from Harry and the others. Wand drawn, he spun in place, looking for the source of the voice. When he found it, he sighed with relief, put a finger to his lips and shushed at the old man in the portrait. "Quiet!"

"I am sorry, Draco," the old man apologized. "I was only glad to see that you had…" The man in the portrait stopped in mid-sentence. He stamped his silver cane into the ground of the portrait and thrust out his chest in a perfect imitation of Lucius Malfoy. "What in the name of Brutus Malfoy are they doing here?" The man asked as he repeatedly pointed his finger at Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. "More disgraceful, traitorous wizards and witches! A half-blood and a Muggle-born! More pollution that is here to soil the very foundation of Malfoy Manor. Your father would--"

"What about my father? Where is he? Is he here?" Draco asked, while grabbing the edges of the picture frame and shaking it.

"Draco? Who the bloody hell is that?" Ron asked.

Draco irritably sighed, turning to face Ron. "That's my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy," he said while pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. Draco turned back to the portrait and growled, "Now where is my father?"

Abraxas puffed out his chest, and pointed his nose as high into the air as possible. "I wouldn’t know. It is not my responsibility for me to keep tabs on where my son is at all times."

Draco pulled his wand and held it against the fabric of the picture, directly in front of Abraxas. "You had better make it your responsibility, before I make it mine to see that you can never leave your portrait frame again," Draco threatened.

"The nerve of you! Such rudeness! Such disrespect, such--" Abraxas began but stopped as Draco began burning the picture with his wand. "Alright, alright, don't burn my picture! I will go and see if I can find Lucius."

"And don't forget about Phillipe," Draco reminded him.

"I can say for certain that he left earlier today and has not been back," Abraxas said as he stormed out of the portrait.

Minutes later Abraxas Malfoy returned to the portrait as Draco stood waiting, and rhythmically spinning his wand with his fingers like a seasoned drummer. 

"Draco, your father is not in his study nor is he in the living room," Abraxas stated as he sat down in a chair.

"Good," Draco said as he aimed his wand at the portrait. "Silencio."

"Draco, what did you do that for?" Hermione asked as she stepped forward looking into the picture frame. 

"Just to make sure that he doesn't alert Father. Come on, everything is this way." 

They walked down the long corridor and into the large living room. The fireplace roared as the heat from the fire filled the room, making it uncomfortably hot. 

"Alright," Harry started as Draco walked toward the corridor that led past the stairs and toward the dungeon. "Ron, you and Ginny stay here while Hermione, Draco, and I go and find Narcissa. If there is any trouble, cast your Patronus immediately. With any luck we'll get out of here before your parents know you've been gone."

"Come on. We have to go now," Draco urgently whispered as Harry and Hermione walked past. Draco gave Ginny one last cold stare before turning to lead Harry and Hermione.

They walked past the stairs as Draco whispered and pointed toward an open doorway up ahead. "Father's study." Sneaking up to the edge of the door, Draco cautiously peeked through the crack between the door and the wall. 

"It's clear. No sign of him," he said as he cautiously stepped around the door and into Lucius' study. Draco walked over toward the desk, holding his hand out toward the fireplace. "Still warm," he said as Harry and Hermione came into the room. "Someone has been here recently." Draco looked and sniffed the wine glass that sat upon the desk. "It's fresh." He finished walking around the room and signaled for Harry and Hermione to follow him out, but not before glancing back down the corridor. 

Further down the hallway, the trio came to another door. "This is it," Draco whispered. He tried to turn the silver knob, only to find that it was locked.

"Alohomora," Hermione whispered as she waved her wand with the incantation.

"I could have managed that, Granger," Draco softly hissed as he furrowed his eyebrows. 

"Alright, you two, let's just go," Harry said as he whispered, "Lumos." The steep stairwell circled downward, and the walls were made of cold, hard rock. 

"Draco," Hermione whispered, "You do realize that if this is a trap--"

"That there will be three of us against one," Draco spoke louder, cutting Hermione off. 

They reached the bottom of the stairs only to be greeted by an old iron gate that stood outside of the wooden door that opened into the dungeon. Vivid memories plagued Draco's thoughts as he quickly remembered forcing Luna Lovegood and Ollivander to spend endless days and nights in this black hole, hearing their screams of pain and their cries for help. It was probably be one of the things he would have to answer for at the trial, assuming he survived that long. 

"Open it, Potter," Draco's stood close behind Harry and spoke into his ear. The iron gate gave a loud, rusty squeak as Harry pulled the latch up and heaved backwards, opening the gate. 

"The moment of truth," Harry said as he lightly touched the doorknob with the tips of his fingers. "Wands at the ready, you two, and be prepared for anything," Harry whispered as Draco heard the metallic creak of the knob turning.

Sweat dripped down from his forehead onto his nose, as Draco could feel every muscle in his body tense with expectation. The knob gave way as Harry pushed open the door. Harry's momentum carried him forward, and he fell onto the hard dirt floor.

Draco bent, grabbed Harry's arm, and jerked him to his feet. Hermione lit the tip of her wand, as Harry and Draco did the same. The three glowing lights illuminated every corner of the small room, which was empty. The only signs that the room had been used were some shreds of rope clinging to the hook that hung from the ceiling and several dark stains on the floor.

"She's not here!" Draco screamed. "Mother? Mother!"

Wherever she was, Narcissa did not answer, but Harry grabbed Draco by the shoulders, squeezing hard. "Stop that! If Lucius is home, it will tell him exactly where we are." 

"What if he's already killed her, Potter?" Draco snarled. "Then I want him to find us, and when he does, I'll make him pay for everything he's ever done to her!" Hot tears began to flow down Draco's cheeks, and he kicked the dirt wall in frustration.

Harry put away his wand and embraced Draco in a smothering hug. One of his hands went to the back of Draco's head, pulling until Draco's cheek rested on his shoulder. "Draco, we'll find her!" Harry promised.

Draco tucked his chin over Harry's shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist, needing this moment of contact so badly that he couldn't bring himself to end it. He raised his head and let his cheek brush Harry’s. His eyes flew open when he remembered Granger's presence, and he fixed her with a look that dared her to say something about him and Potter.

Instead of making fun of them, or worse, saying something saccharine about the two of them getting along, Hermione ignored them, focusing instead on one of the larger stains on the floor. "I don't think whoever was in here lost enough blood to die because of it. Assuming Kraven was--" Her face lit up. "That's it! Kraven! Draco, call him here. If anyone knows where your mother is, it will be him."

Draco disengaged from Harry and wiped his cheeks dry with the back of one hand. "Kraven!" he rasped, his voice still thick from crying. He cleared his throat, making sure to speak deeply. "Kraven!" 

Several seconds passed as the trio continually shined their wand tips around the cell, waiting to see a house elf appear. "Something's wrong," Draco said. "Even if Kraven were running an errand, one of the other house elves should have answered."

"I'm going to check on Ron and Ginny!" Hermione announced. She ran for the stairs, Harry following behind her and pulling Draco by the hand.

Once Hermione had reached the bottom step, the iron gate slammed itself, the lock clicking into place, trapping Harry and Draco in the room. Hermione pivoted, ran back to the gate, and immediately began blasting it with a variety of different spells.

"Don't bother with that, just go! Run!" Harry shouted.

"Look around you!" Hermione cried, gesturing with her empty hand as ineffectual magic continued to spew from her wand.

Draco turned in a circle and saw a black fog spreading from one corner of the room.

"I don't know what that is, but it's not good! You have to get out of there before it spreads!" Hermione wrapped her hands around one of the bars of the gate, jerking on it as she tried another series of spells.

"You're not helping, Granger!" Draco snapped. "Go get someone who can!"

Draco could now barely see through the miasma. When the fog became so thick that even Potter's face was obscured, a red burst of light shot through the darkness, and he heard Hermione scream.

"Welcome home, Draco!" Lucius Malfoy's voice came from the darkness. "And now the hunter has his prey."


	25. Bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A major challenge for this chapter. It is a very important chapter and a complex one, but in the end it was believed that it will be a great chapter to read. Hopefully, you all, will feel the same after reading it. Please, feel free to leave comments and feedback. It is all very much appreciated and helpful in going forward with the story.

Chapter 25: Bittersweet

 

Ron watched as Harry, Hermione, and Draco exited Lucius Malfoy’s study. He smiled faintly at Harry, hoping to see some kind of assurance that they would soon be leaving Malfoy Manor. Ron’s smile was returned with a small shake of Harry’s head as their eyes briefly met. Hermione was next, as she frowned at Ron’s hopeful expression. The trio slowly crept down the corridor before disappearing through a door.

 

He deeply exhaled as he walked over to the large sofa and sat down, his hands trembling. “It’s all too weird.” 

 

“What, Ron?” Ginny asked, as she walked over from across the living room. 

 

“I said it’s all too weird, Gin.” He put his wand down on the cushion beside him and began to rub his hands together, feeling the beads of sweat that had formed on them. “I would never say this to Harry, but now that we're here, I’m not sure about this.”

 

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Really, Ron? You’ve just now come to that thought? You weren't worried when Malfoy decided to split us up.”

 

“It’s not just that, Gin I can’t help feeling a bit spooked being back here in this place. I mean, just a few months ago I was trapped down there,” Ron said as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward the door Harry, Hermione, and Draco had gone through. “It’s all one big weird feeling.” 

 

“Oh, come on, Ron. You’ve got to stop panicking yourself like this.”

 

Ron stopped wringing his hands and stood up. His long frame towered over Ginny, as he felt the sensations of his past fears ignite the adrenaline in his body. “It’s not just panic, Ginny. I could have died here. We all could have. You don’t know what that was like being captured and brought here!" 

 

Ginny shrugged. “And you don’t know what it is like being possessed and controlled by Voldemort.”

 

Ron brushed by her and walked to the fireplace.

 

The brightly burning embers cast long, jittery shadows across the room so that where ever he looked, dark shapes danced in the periphery of his vision. He tuned Ginny’s words out as his mind drifted, recalling the feeling of being captured and placed down below in the pitch-black dungeon cell. It was a fear of never being able to see his parents again and the knowledge that he might die in that cellar at the murderous hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, or even Voldemort that had filled his mind as he had listened to Hermione’s blood-chilling screams from above. 

 

It was this thought and that specific feeling that Ron would never forget, nor would he ever tell anyone. Slowly, his mind came back to its present location and situation. He could hear the crackle of the fire, and the sound of low laughter.

 

“You can stop laughing at me. Just because I may not be as brave or daring as Harry, doesn’t give you the right to laugh at me. I mean, I am standing here, you know!” Ron said as he whirled around only to see Ginny standing in the same place as before. 

 

Her eyes scanned the room. “It wasn't me laughing! I don't think we're alone--”

 

The low laughter echoed again through the room. Both Weasleys took a defensive stance, their backs pressed against one another, wands at the ready, as their eyes surveyed the room. 

 

“I must say that I am enjoying this more than I ever thought I would,” the voice came from the distant corridor, followed by another peal of laughter. 

 

Ginny and Ron made their way down the corridor and came to a stop in front of Abraxas Malfoy’s portrait. The dead Malfoy continued to giggle as he pressed his weight upon his silver staff to keep himself from falling over. “Who ever knew that being dead could have its moments?” Abraxas chuckled as he raised himself up to his full height, still snickering. 

 

“You bloody old git!” Ron shouted. “How would you like for me to continue what Malfoy started? I should burn your portrait, and then see how you like that!” 

 

Abraxas ceased laughing, and raised his cane, shaking it at Ron. “If I were you, young, wretched Weasley, I would be more concerned about leaving this manor alive. As you said earlier, you were fortunate once. Aren't you tempting fate yet again by being here?” 

 

Ginny elbowed Ron out of the way, pointing her wand directly at Abraxas. 

 

Abraxas sighed. “A man tires of being killed. Or rather in my case, threatened, since I cannot die a second time.” Abraxas opened his mouth in a protracted, theatrical yawn while waving a hand dismissively in Ginny's direction.

 

“Gin, back off,” Ron whispered as he placed his hand upon her shoulder. He took a step toward the painting and looked Abraxas in the eyes. “Enough of your fun and games. If you know where Draco’s mum is then tell us, and we'll leave.”

 

Abraxas smoothed his silver hair back and puffed his chest forward. “I will never help a blood traitor like you.” 

 

Ron scoffed and cursed as Ginny asked, “Well if you won’t help us then what about helping your grandson find his mother?”

 

Abraxas tilted his head down, and paused before answering. His brow furrowed, and for a moment Ron thought Ginny's words might have moved him. That moment quickly passed, and when Abraxas answered, he did so with a snarl. “Young Draco has made poor choices, as is obvious from the vermin which stand before my portrait.” 

 

Ginny swore loudly.

 

Abraxas wagged a finger. “My, my, such language. It's not very becoming from a young witch like you.”

 

Ron placed his hand around Ginny’s elbow and tugged. “Come on Gin, he’s nothing but a waste of time. We need to get back into the living room in case they need us.”

 

“Quite right, Weasley," Abraxas agreed. "They will need your help. Not that it will matter.”

 

A loud animal-like growl escaped Ron as he grabbed the portrait off the wall. He sprinted back into the living room and held it close to the flames. “One chance! Now talk or I’ll toss you into the fire! Then we'll see if you can die a second time.”

 

A high shrill escaped Abraxas as he watched the flames inch closer toward his gold-framed portrait. “Not very Malfoy-like is it?” Ginny grinned. 

 

“Alright, you two ruffians, place my portrait back on the wall, and I will tell you what I know,” Abraxas said as he dangled sideways in his picture.

 

Ron walked back with Ginny right behind him and hung the picture back on the wall, purposely letting it slant so that Abraxas had to tilt his head in order to look them in the eyes. “There now,” Ron said as he crossed his arms and stepped back from the portrait. "I've upheld my end of the bargain, now you tell us where Narcissa."

 

Abraxas viewed the awkward angle of his picture as he paced from edge to edge. “Damned kids,” he muttered under his breath. “Gryffindors, if I'm not mistaken. Your kind never could resist a chance to play the hero. Nevertheless, I ask you this--what has my grandson ever done to deserve such loyalty? What makes you so sure that even now he is not using your friends as bargaining chips to regain Lucius' good graces?" Abraxas arched his silver eyebrows and waited for a response.

 

Ron and Ginny exchanged looks with one another. Ginny's seemed to say, "I told you so." 

 

“I believe in Harry,” Ron replied. “If Harry trusts Draco, then that's good enough for me.” 

 

Abraxas leaned forward on his cane and stared at Ginny. “And you?”

 

Ginny reached up and twirled a lock of red hair between her index finger and thumb. “Me? I don't trust the little ferret as far as I could throw him."

 

“Don't you now?” Abraxas rubbed his chin with the serpent head of his cane. “There appears to be a bit of good judgment in your family after all.” 

 

“Hey!” Ron interjected as he raised he wand to the portrait.

 

Abraxas waved his cane at Ron's wand, but continued to study Ginny’s face. “The little lady has good reason to be cautious. Remember, Draco Malfoy is my grandson, and son to Lucius Malfoy. He will use every means necessary to gain whatever he wants. The truth is never pure and rarely simple.”

 

“You’re bloody crazy!” Ron said while pushing his dazed sister out of the way. “You expect us to believe this nonsense?” 

 

A sly smile spread across the old wizard’s face. “I didn’t say that you had to believe me. The difference between truth and trust is measured only by what you can see in a man’s heart.”

 

"Stop stalling," Ginny advised, tapping her wand against her left palm. "You can trust us to throw your portrait in the fire if you don't tell us where Narcissa is. Now!"

 

"Truthfully? I have no idea." Abraxas spun on the spot and walked out of the picture frame, leaving Ron to sputter and mumble at the empty portrait.

 

“Come on, Ron,” Ginny sighed as she reached for her brother’s arm to pull him away from the empty portrait. “We’d better get back in case Harry or Hermione needs us.”

 

“Abraxas bloody Malfoy! He deserves to be dead!” Ron yelled, his face burning with anger. 

 

Several feet away, a knock came from the front door of Malfoy Manor. Ron and Ginny simultaneously looked at the door. Ginny walked toward the door with Ron at her side. “What are you doing, Gin? Don’t open it!”

 

She whirled around, strands of her hair swatting Ron’s face. “And why not? Merlin’s beard, Ron, quit acting like every sound you hear is a giant spider!”

 

“Yeah, but--"

 

“But what, Ron? It’s probably someone from the Ministry, or possibly Dad. For all we know it may even be Narcissa Malfoy home from a bloody shopping trip.”

 

“What if it’s some twisted psycho like Phillipe Moreaux?” Ron whispered as Ginny’s fingertips touched the doorknob. 

 

“Stop panicking, Ron. Everything will be just fine,” Ginny sassed as she opened the door.

 

Time seemed to stand still as Ron and Ginny gawked at the towering figure before them. Their gaze traveled from the man’s feet all the way to his dark, greasy hair. His yellow stained teeth flashed in a predatory grin.

 

“Now can we panic?” Ron asked as he glanced at Ginny, who had gone white.

 

The tall man raised both hands, palms out. “There’s no need to be alarmed, it’s just your twisted psycho.” 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

The black fog thickened, enveloping Harry and Draco and reaching tendrils through the bars of the gate. It swirled around Hermione's ankles, and the cold dampness of it sent chills through her body. Her skin tingled where the mist touched it, as if the black cloud was charged with electricity. 

 

A red burst of light shot through the darkness, and Hermione threw herself against the wall in an instinctive attempt to dodge the spell. The bolt hit the rock mere inches from her face, sending shards of stone flying. A sharp chunk of rock grazed her ear, and she screamed. 

 

“Harry, apparate out of there!” she called as she ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. 

 

She didn't dare look back.

 

\------------------------------------------

Draco soon felt Harry’s hand fumbling on his arm before locking onto his wrist. Seconds passed in silence. Draco’s eyes burned from the black mist; it blinded him, and when he inhaled, it slithered inside him and gnawed on his lungs.

 

“Get us out of here now, Potter!” Draco rasped.

 

“I’m trying! There’s some sort of anti-disapparation jinx, and I can’t—"

 

“There will be no leaving this cell,” Lucius’ voice crept through the black fog. “Accio wands.” Draco’s wand flew from his fingertips into the darkness, and Harry cursed. “Allow me to shed some illumination on this moment.”

 

The black fog dissipated, leaving only a light mist in the dungeon room. A small flash of light appeared in the corner of the room and then traveled toward the low ceiling where it hovered, bathing the room with a shadowy glow.

 

“Much better,” Lucius said as he unclasped the invisibility cloak and let it slide away from his body. “You see, Mr. Potter, you are not the only wizard who has the services of a proper invisibility cloak,” Lucius flashed a small grin at Harry. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”

 

"I'll tell you how it feels, Lucius. Accio wand!" Harry called, reaching out with his right hand, his hand left still holding Draco's wrist in a vice-like grip.

 

Lucius slashed his wand through the air. "I think not, Mr. Potter." He shook his head and patted his breast pocket. "This stays with me."

 

“Where is Mother?” Draco shouted, breaking free of Harry's grip and stepping toward Lucius.

 

Lucius stepped into the center of the room. "You have inherited Narcissa's lack of patience, Draco. However, don't worry as you will join her shortly. She is…resting peacefully, at the moment.” 

 

“I’ll kill you!” Draco screamed. His veins burned with rage, and he lunged toward Lucius on instinct, heedless of the wand that now pointed directly at his heart. When Harry yanked hard on his wrist, pulling him back, Draco nearly rounded on him. 

 

“You would dare strike down the person that helped to bring you life? That would be a fatal mistake, Draco,” Lucius hissed. 

 

“Hermione will bring help,” Harry said, looking from Draco to Lucius. “She will bring Mr. Weasley and he will bring the Aurors here. If they find either of us harmed, you'll have no chance of avoiding Azkaban."

 

Lucius allowed his eyes to slide over to the spot where Hermione had been when the spell had just missed her head. “I doubt that, Potter. My…man upstairs will handle any unwelcomed visitors. Listen.”

 

With his index finger, Lucius pointed upwards toward the ceiling of the dungeon as the muffled sounds of footsteps and shouting, along with what sounded like the breaking of objects, reached their ears. “You see, I have thought of all contingencies, and I have a plan in place for each of them. Your strength in numbers will be no match for my cunning and experience.”

 

“What do you want with us, Lucius?” Harry demanded as he moved forward, placing his body between Lucius and Draco.

 

“I have what I want-- the two of you,” Lucius taunted as he pointed his wand at both young wizards. “Now, I have the opportunity to finish what was started at our last meeting.”

 

Harry choked out a forced, unconvincing laugh. “If you think that I am still going to join your stupid new world order, you have--"

 

A vicious blow struck the side of Harry’s head, causing the Gryffindor to stumble back against the earthen wall, his hand falling limply from Draco's arm. Lucius smoothed his hair back over his shoulder and replanted his cane firmly on the surface of the floor in front of him. “Insolent boy!”

 

Draco let his arms fall to his sides and felt a wave of shame when he realized that instinct had driven him to cover his own head when he saw his father raise the silver cane. He took a step toward Harry before Lucius' voice stopped him.

 

“Draco! Leave him for now. You and I have unfinished business,” Lucius said as Draco turned on the spot, anger once more coursing through his blood, only to come face to tip with the end of his father’s wand.

 

Draco took a step back, moving away from the wand as Lucius stood his ground. “Where is Mother?” Draco growled as his fingertips touched the dirt wall behind him. 

 

“Narcissa is of no use to me anymore. I caution you, do not make her same mistake, Draco.” 

 

“No,” Draco whispered, as his brain wrestled with Lucius’ words. “No, you’re lying,” Draco repeated aloud, his voice catching in his throat.

 

“You of all people should know me better than that. Your mother forced me to do what I did not want to do. She brought the end upon herself by failing to cooperate with my requests.” 

 

Hot, wet tears wanted to form in Draco’s eyes, but he forced them back, continuing to focus on his anger instead of grief. “What do you want with me, then? You want me to be a part of your bloody plans, or do you want me here just to torture and 'punish' me every day for your sick satisfaction?”

 

Lucius remained still, though his right hand twitched as if in anticipation of a curse. “Do…not…test…me!” With each word, a small spark of magic exploded from the tip of his wand as he inched it closer to Draco’s face. “You are here only because I have decided to offer you the opportunity to redeem yourself. Unlike Narcissa, you are too important to be cast off so easily."

 

“Important?” Draco asked. “How so?”

 

“You are heir to the Malfoy name, and all of the wealth and power that comes with it. It is imperative that you remember your name and who you are, Draco.” 

 

Draco looked down at his feet as Lucius continued. “Now having said that, there are certain…inadequacies that I will purge from your body, mind, and soul. To think that you can be associated with someone like Potter or any of his friends is absolutely reprehensible, and I forbid it!” Lucius banged his cane down upon the floor, causing part of the stone to chip. “Your sordid affairs with Potter will end here tonight!”

 

“I am my own man, Father! You cannot control me for my entire life. I’ve seen what kind of man you are, and what methods you use to have people bow to your every demand! You will not rule me!”

 

Lucius' face remained expressionless, and his voice went dangerously quiet. “Is that so, Draco? What do you gain by associating yourself with Potter? Have I not provided you with everything that you will need for your lifetime? Does Potter even know who you truly are?” 

 

Draco's jaw muscles clenched as his brain provided the answer. He wanted to speak, needed to tell the truth, even knowing that his father would destroy him for it. 

 

“Don’t...don’t answer that, Draco! It’s not his business what you do with your life. All he cares about is what he can do for himself,” Harry said as he staggered to his feet, blood oozing through the fingers of his left hand as he cradled the side of his head.

 

The lips on Lucius face curled into an evil sneer. “Awake at last, Potter? Enjoyed your little rest?” 

 

“It will take more than a strike from your cane to keep me down, Lucius!” Harry said as he wiped the blood from his hand onto his shirt and robes. 

 

“Quite so. Well then, let’s just see what it will take. Incarcero!” 

 

The ropes shot out from Lucius’ wand and coiled around Harry’s wrists and ankles. Harry fell to the ground as Draco instinctively stepped over to catch him. 

 

A red stunning spell flashed beside Draco as Harry fell to the stone floor. A quick flick of Lucius' wand and Harry was hovering in mid-air. 

 

“Let’s see how depraved you truly are, Draco,” Lucius said as he levitated Harry’s bonds, causing them to slip snugly onto the hook that hung from the ceiling. “Now, we explore the depth of your corruption! Now, we find out if you have passed beyond the point of redemption.”

 

Draco looked up as Harry hung helplessly above. He glanced back at Lucius, who pocketed his wand and stood with his arms folded. 

 

“I ask you again, son, what do you gain by associating yourself with Harry Potter? What is the true reason behind it all?”

 

Without hesitation, Draco spoke. “I went to Potter in order to bring him to you, Father, just as you had asked me to do. You wanted me to get close to him, and that is what I did. You have no reason to harm him now!" Draco hated the high, whiny tone of his voice. He took a deep breath, and forced his next words to come out in an imitation of his Father's calm tone. "He is worth more to us alive and safe! His testimony will clear me at the trial and then--" Draco's mind raced for an additional incentive. "And then you can use him as a bargaining chip with the Ministry to negotiate for your own freedom. It's in our best interests--"

 

"Our best interests?" Lucius asked raising his eyebrow as he tapped his fingers on the wands inside his robe. "And 'our best interests' were your primary concern as you were indulging yourself at Grimmauld Place? How very efficient of you."

 

“I did it all to help bring Potter closer to you, Father,” Draco said robotically.

 

“And yet when the time came to choose your loyalty, you betrayed me!" Lucius snarled. He withdrew Draco’s wand from his robe, and he held it in his hand, admiring it. “You have always had such a beautiful wand. It would be a shame to let it go to waste." Lucius lightly stroked the wand, allowing the smooth wood to gently slide along his fingers. "Crucio!"

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Ron began to reach for his wand, but received a large gloved fist across his mouth. The force propelled him backwards, causing his bottom lip to burst open and drip blood. Ginny managed to get a stunning spell off, but missed Phillipe as he deflected it with a swift flick of his wand, which he had pulled from his sleeve. Suddenly, as if a large hook were around her waist, Ginny was hurled through the air down the corridor. She crashed onto the floor as Phillipe walked through the doorway, magically sealing the door as it closed.

 

“A fresh, feisty red-head. Lucius knows my favorite type of women,” Phillipe said as his tongue ran along his bottom lip. “A little fight in ya: I like that.”

 

“Over my dead body!” Ron screamed as he scrambled toward Ginny, placing himself between his sister and the sinister wizard.

 

“Precisely the way it will be,” Phillipe growled. “I will allow you to live just long enough so you can watch what I do to her.” 

 

Ron could feel Ginny moving behind him as she slowly got to her feet. “Gin, move back into the living room.” Ginny pulled her own wand, and trained it on the face of the large man in front of them. Phillipe scoffed and grinned at the site of two wands pointing at him. 

 

"Do you really think that you can survive a duel with me?" 

 

"Yeah, I can!" Ron shouted, the pitch in his voice rising upward as fear gripped him.

 

"Foolish words," Phillipe whispered followed by a loud scream as a green jet of light shot from his wand, narrowly missing Ron as it destroyed a portrait on the wall. Ginny's screams mixed with those in the other portraits as they fled to pictures that occupied other walls in the manor.

 

"Consider yourself warned, boy. The next one will be more accurate," Phillipe snarled. 

 

"Ron!" Ginny screamed from the living room. Waving her wand in different motions, she volleyed a number of hexes and curses toward Phillipe as Ron ducked and ran toward the living room. He glanced over his shoulder to see Phillipe deflect one of Ginny's attacks into a picture frame with a resounding crash.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Once at the top of the stairs that led to the dungeon, Hermione began calling for Ginny and Ron. She could hear noises from down the hall. Several voices were shouting, and a loud crash was followed by the tinkling of broken glass. 

 

“Hermione, look out!” That was Ron, who came barreling into the living room, Ginny on his heels. 

 

Both Weasleys threw themselves to the floor, and Hermione followed suit just in time to avoid a shimmering blast of energy. A vase that had stood directly behind her went sailing into the wall and shattered. She sprang to her feet, aimed her wand in the direction of the blast, and shouted, “Stupefy!” 

 

The manor fell eerily silent. Ginny and Ron both stood up, and Ginny moved slowly toward the hallway. 

 

“So you think she got him?” Ron asked. 

 

“Don't know.” Ginny flattened her back against the wall and peeked around the corner, steadying herself with a hand on the wall. 

 

A bolt of green lightening sailed past Ginny's head, and a moment later, a man loomed over her. Tall and broad-shouldered, he might be an even physical match for the three of them. If, as Hermione suspected, he was Phillipe Moreaux, he might be a magical match as well. Both Ron and Hermione fired off attack spells and then ducked as the man deflected their magic with a flick of his wand. Ginny darted around her attacker and disappeared down the hallway. 

 

Cursing, the man moved into the living room, keeping his back to the wall and his head turned so that he could monitor the hallway while watching both Ron and Hermione. 

 

“We have you surrounded now,” Hermione said. “There are three of us and one of you. You might as well--” 

 

“Confrigo!” Phillipe aimed the curse at Ron, who howled as the sleeve of his robe and the wall behind him burst into flames. 

 

Hermione cast Aguamenti while running for the spiral staircase, weaving from side to side in order to avoid Phillipe's next attack. The jet of water from her wand was able to douse the flames, and soon Ron was behind her. She spun to face Phillipe and continued to ascend the stairs, walking backwards. Ron turned as well, but stopped halfway up the staircase. 

 

“Just go!” He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Gin and I will take care of him. Go get help!” 

 

Sparks flew as one of Phillipe's spells missed, hitting one of the wrought iron posts of the bannister and making the metal glow white before fading to red. Cursing again, Phillipe moved toward the staircase, trading another series of spells with Ron and Hermione. As Phillipe's focus narrowed, Ginny crept out of the hallway, staying behind Phillipe and out of his line of sight. 

 

Hermione balanced on one foot, torn between staying to help subdue Phillipe and apparating back to the Burrow. As she deliberated, a sound caught her attention. A woman's voice was calling from somewhere upstairs. Trusting Ron to cover her, she turned and ran.

 

\------------------------------------------

 

Harry’s screams echoed in the small chamber. His back arched, and his face contorted into an agonized grimace. Lucius quickly pointed the wand at Draco. “Do not think of imitating your Gryffindor friends with their misguided bravado. If you interfere, I will turn your own wand against you. Every time that you lie to me, Potter will get a dose of your punishment. I need not use Legilimency to know when you are lying to me. Your eyes will tell me everything that I need to know.”

 

Draco swallowed hard, trying not to show fear in front of Lucius. 

 

“Now we begin again. What does Potter mean to you?”

 

“He means nothing to me; he is a tool to be used,” Draco said, hoping to appeal to Lucius' sense of reason, if he had any left. 

 

“Very well. Crucio!” Harry screamed as the curse ravaged his weakened body. 

 

“I’m sorry, Potter,” Draco whispered to himself as he helplessly watched the carnage, remembering exactly how painful his father's "punishment" was.

 

The screams subsided as Lucius stopped the torture. He began to pant, his breaths coming in short bursts. “You are the only one that can save Potter. Will you watch him die just to keep your silence? Help to ease Potter's suffering. Answer me!" 

 

Draco did not answer. He merely stood still, his mind racing as he watched Harry lightly sway on the hook. The room again sizzled with magical energy as the curse penetrated Harry’s body for a third time. 

 

After what seemed like a small eternity, Lucius released the curse, panting harder now as his frustration began to swell. “Answer me, damn it!” 

 

“He…he won’t answer you,” Harry groaned. His body looked as if it had been hit by a group of rogue bludgers, but he slowly twisted his neck to be able to see Lucius and Draco. “He won’t answer you.” Harry winced as his shoulder and wrist popped loudly. “But I can tell you.”

 

“Potter, no!” Draco said as his mind sprang back into overdrive. 

 

“It’s too late, Draco. He already knows that you have betrayed him,” Harry strained as another jolt of pain battered his limp body. “Lucius…Draco," Harry groaned, his body shuddering as his tortured muscles spasmed. "Draco is your greatest failure. You…you tried to make him like you, but…he isn't. Even with everything you did, you could never put out the light inside of him. He's not…like you at all. He has feelings you could never understand! I…I even think that he has feelings for…for me.”

 

Lucius' eyes burned with quiet anger as he stared at Draco. "At least he--" Lucius pointed to Harry with his wand "--has the courage to tell the truth! I have been in this room since before you entered. I saw the two of you with your disgusting display. My only question is the extent of your depravity. How much iniquity must I purge from you? How far has this gone, Draco?"

 

Draco smiled, a small part of him enjoying the fact that he had a way to strike Lucius with a pain that cut deeper than the Cruciatus curse. He also had no reason to hold back.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

"What are you going to do now that your help has left you?" Phillipe savagely smiled at Ron. 

 

"She's gone for more help!" Ron answered before he caught a glimpse of Ginny sneaking behind Phillipe to line up her next curse. 

 

"She will only find more trouble upstairs. I have a surprise waiting for anyone nosing about up there." 

 

"Everte Statum!" Ginny yelled as Ron leapt from the staircase and landed safely on the floor. The spell was on target with the middle of Phillipe's back. It pounded him into the stairwell, causing the staircase to shimmer. 

 

"Stupify!" Ron cast the spell hoping to add more injury to the dangerous wizard. Phillipe deflected the spell, and it ricocheted down the hallway destroying more Malfoy family portraits.

 

Ginny and Ron retreated back into the parlor area as Phillipe advanced, hurling more hexes and curses at them. Ginny and Ron managed to counter most of them, but a few found their marks, and blood began to drip from wounds on Ron's legs and arms. 

 

Alternating turns, Ginny and Ron released a plethora of spells as fast as they could. Many of the spells were deflected, and the manor itself took more damage than any of the three combatants. One stray curse ripped apart the curtains, while another blasted through one of the windows in the parlor, allowing cooler air to blow in and the hot, steamy air to exit the room. 

 

"Bombarda!" Phillipe yelled. 

 

\--------------------------------------

 

At the top of the spiral staircase Hermione found a hallway that ran in both directions. The voice seemed to come from a higher floor, but the faint cries gave her no help in choosing left or right. She remembered Orion pulling on Draco's sleeve and pointing with his beak, almost as if the bird were trying to tell them something. Orion had flown into a west-facing window, which meant that turning left would take her closer to whatever it was he had wanted to show them. 

 

“Narcissa!” she screamed. “Mrs. Malfoy? I can hear you! Tell me where you are!” 

 

The reply was too faint to understand, but at least the voice was louder than before. The hallway ended in a door that opened on a staircase. She threw a locking spell at the door before running up the steps; it might not delay Phillipe for long, but she would take any advantage she could get. As she ascended the stairs, Narcissa's cries grew louder, and when she reached the final landing, she could make out actual words. 

 

“Arthur? Is that you? Help me! Oh, Merlin, help me!” 

 

Hermione tried the final door, found it locked, and attempted to cast Alohomora. When that spell failed, she called, “Stand back!” and then “Bombarda!” The heavy wooden door shattered with a blast that rattled the floors. Behind the door was a dark, narrow hallway. After lighting the tip of her wand, she noted rough boards below her feet and bare rafters over her head. A heavy blanket of dust coated the unvarnished floor, though someone had tracked through it recently. 

 

The hallway opened into a storage room filled with a surprisingly mundane collection of old decorations, stacked boxes, and moth-eaten furniture. In the center of the room, Narcissa Malfoy sat in a high-backed wooden chair, an old suit of armor looming over her. Unlike the rest of the objects in the attic, the suit looked freshly polished, and its shield gleamed with inlaid gems and embossed runes. 

 

“Quickly!” Narcissa cried. A piece of duct tape flapped from her chin, and more of the silver substance was wrapped around her wrists, ankles and torso, binding her to the chair. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and blood trickled from her split lips.

 

Hermione moved as quickly as she could, picking her way over old broomsticks, an empty picture frame, and what might have been a laundry mangle. When she came close enough to put a hand on Narcissa's shoulder, an ear-splitting howl began, seeming to come from all directions at once. Narcissa continued to speak, but her words were drowned out by the noise of the Caterwauling Charm. 

 

“Diffindo!” Hermione used the spell to tear at the tape and then began peeling it off. By the time she had finished freeing Narcissa's hands, the caterwauling had stopped. 

 

“Is Draco here?” Narcissa demanded, twisting in the chair and peering down the hallway while she helped Hermione to pull at the tape. 

 

“No. He and Harry should be back at the Burrow.” Hermione pulled the last strand of tape from Narcissa's ankles and helped her to her feet. “That's where I'm taking you now. Hold on.” 

 

She focused her mind on the Burrow and made the necessary effort of will, expecting to feel the familiar wrenching sensation. Instead, she stumbled in place as if a strong gust of wind had knocked her down. She tried again with the same effect, sighed, and shook her head. “Someone put an anti-disapparition spell on the Manor. We'll have to leave through a door or window, and then--” Her stomach knotted as she realized the implications of the spell. 

 

“--and then what?” Narcissa prompted. 

 

“Never mind that! I just realized that Harry and Draco are probably still trapped here, too. I told Harry to apparate out, but I doubt his apparition worked either. Mrs. Malfoy, do you how to get past the dungeon gate?”

 

“I know how to get in from the outside, unless Lucius has changed the spells or the password. Getting out from the inside is another matter,” Narcissa grimaced. “Is that where my son is, in the dungeon?” 

 

“I don't know!” Hermione regretted her answer immediately and hastily added, “That's where I last saw them. I couldn't get through the gate with magic. You'll have to give me the password or come with me. Can you walk?” 

 

Narcissa nodded. “I can manage.” She rose to her feet and stumbled toward the hallway, tripping and catching herself several times. 

 

"Hold still a moment." Hermione pointed her wand at Narcissa and used a healing incantation. The next steps the woman took were sure and steady, and when she looked over her shoulder to nod her thanks, her face had regained its normal appearance. 

 

Hermione followed Narcissa out of the attic and into the hallway. Halfway to the shattered door, thumping and crashing sounds came from behind them, followed by metallic, clanking footsteps. Hermione turned to see the suit of armor jogging toward them, its short sword extended and its shield held out in front. 

 

“Petrificus totalus!” Hermione called, pointing her wand at the suit. 

 

The shield swung like a tennis racket, deflecting the spell and forcing Hermione and Narcissa to duck.

 

“Duro! Stupefy!” Hermione aimed these curses at the suit's legs and head, respectively, but the shield responded with preternatural speed, and once again her magic was harmlessly deflected. Running backwards, she cried, “Finite Incantatem!” in an attempt to quench the spell that must be animating the armor. When that spell bounced off the shield like the others, she turned and ran after Narcissa, catching up to her as they reached the shattered door. 

 

The armor sprinted toward them, and Narcissa started down the hallway that would lead deeper into the Manor. 

 

“Wait!” Hermione called, panting. “Take this.” She forced her wand into Narcissa's hand. “Keep the suit distracted. I'm going to get behind it.” With no time for further explanation, she ran in the opposite direction. A smile crept across her face when she heard Narcissa call, “Incarcerous!” Hermione's grin broadened when she turned to see the suit following Narcissa, who bombarded it with a series of ineffective spells. 

 

Once she was relatively sure that the armor had forgotten her, Hermione whispered, “Accio, wand!” Instantly, the wand appeared in the palm of her hand. The suit continued to advance on Narcissa while offering Hermione a clear shot at its unprotected back. “Finite!” she shouted, expecting the suit to fall apart into a pile of metal plates, or at least return to its status as an inanimate object. 

 

Instead, it whirled to catch her spell with the edge of the shield and began bounding toward her. Running would be hopeless, as the magically animated armor could continue indefinitely, while her legs were already burning from exertion. The best she could hope for was a lucky shot, and so she held her ground and continued to hurl curses, some of them coming maddeningly close to connecting. 

 

Hermione would have expected Narcissa to make a run for the dungeon, but instead she threw herself at the metal boots. The suit lost its balance, and Narcissa clambered over it. Taking Hermione by the arm, she said, “Run. Just run!”

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

"We're lovers," Draco lied, meeting his Father's eyes and finding all of the hate he expected there. Fueled by the fire in Lucius' eyes, Draco's imagination ran wild. "The first time was in a store washroom. Potter was helping me put on a pair of Muggle pants so we could hide from you. He had his hands in my pants, and I couldn't keep my hands off him."

 

"Draco, don't--" Harry began. 

 

"Shut it!" Draco waved a hand to silence Harry, not wanting the moment to end. He could see the pain on Lucius' face. His father was wilting before him. "We stayed in a Muggle hotel that night; together, and in the same bed. I let Potter show me his feelings. He's willing to do anything for me, do you know that? Tell me, Father, how does it feel to imagine it?" Draco savored the slump of Lucius’ shoulders, the way his eyes tightened, and the defeated sag of his mouth. Hoping to buy more time for the Aurors, he asked. “Do you want to know more?" 

 

"No! It is as I had feared. You are beyond redemption." Lucius dropped the cane, and with a mighty swing, the back of his hand and ring hammered the right side of Draco’s face, dazzling him with pain and bringing forth a hot wave of blood. Draco stumbled, falling down on one knee. “You…” Lucius spat with vengeful fury. “You…are no son of mine!” 

 

Draco cradled his injury and looked up at Lucius, his eyes blazing with bitter hate. “And you...” Draco spoke as he raised himself back up to his full height. “You…are no father of mine!” 

 

“So be it!” Lucius said through gritted teeth. “Then watch as Potter dies by your wand.” Lucius stepped back, drawing his own wand on Draco. Another swift flick of Draco’s wand and Harry was thrown against the wall of the dungeon with a sickening crack. "His death is on your hands," Lucius smirked as he stepped toward them. 

 

Lucius raised his arm with Draco's wand straight into the air. "Avada--"  
A loud, earsplitting sound came from the room above, and Draco covered his ears from the deafening noise. 

 

The Caterwauling Charm echoed throughout Malfoy Manor as Lucius stopped the incantation and looked upward. "Impossible" he muttered as the shrieking alarm continued. 

 

Draco seized his only opportunity and attacking like a wild animal, he lunged forward with all of his strength. His right hand hammered the left side of Lucius' face, causing him to flail backwards. 

 

"Accio, wands!" Draco called, and his wand flew from Lucius' hand and into Draco's waiting fingers. Lucius reached for Harry's wand, but was too late in keeping it from leaving his pocket. His left hand securely held its grip on his own wand as he got back to his feet. 

 

So, you've learned to fight like a Muggle? How degrading." Lucius rubbed the back of his hand against the left side of his face.

 

"I learned all about beating people from you, Father. I learned how satisfying it can be," Draco said as he stepped over in front of Harry's motionless form.

 

"You dare to oppose me, boy?" Lucius angrily queried. "You will regret your choice, Draco. It will be your last mistake!" 

 

Ropes shot out from Lucius' wand, but Draco sent a counter-curse that dissolved the ropes. "Impressive!" Lucius said as he sidestepped around the room while Draco stood in front of Harry, shielding the Gryffindor. 

 

"Everte Statum," Draco shouted, and a blue swirl erupted from his wand and flew toward Lucius. The elder Malfoy dodged out of the firing path, flicking his wand, and causing the curse to flicker and disappear.

 

"Lacarnum Inflamarae," Lucius hissed. A ball of fire erupted out of his wand and zoomed toward Draco. He dove as the fireball crashed into the dirt wall and splintered into tiny sparks. 

 

Draco quickly glanced at Harry to make sure that he was not on fire. His decision to dive had created a perfect open target for Lucius to curse Harry. Seeing this, Lucius wasted no time with his next deadly curse. 

 

"Avada Kedavra!" Lucius completed the incantation just as binding ropes tightened around his ankles, causing him to fall over. The killing curse struck the wall over Harry's head. Lucius quickly severed the ropes with a burning charm, and got back to his feet. "Enough of this," he growled. "Crucio!"

 

\------------------------------------------

 

The blast destroyed the couch and most of the parlor room furniture, scattering it in fragments across the room. Bits of stuffing fluttered through the air like snow. Ron stumbled and fell face-down on the floor. When he raised his head, he saw that Ginny had been thrown across the room, where Phillipe now loomed over her. 

 

"Weren't expecting that, were you?" Phillipe mocked as he stepped closer to Ginny. "Surprised ya, didn't it?" He placed his boot against Ginny's midsection and pushed her over.

 

"You'll find that I'm full of surprises, too" she quipped. A look of shock spread onto Phillipe's face as a curse hit him from point blank range and sent him across the room, smashing into the large glass mirror that hung against the wall.

 

"Ron!" Ginny screamed as she ran over to him. 

 

"I'm alright, Gin, just had the breath knocked out of me," Ron said as he staggered to his feet. 

 

"Come on, if we can just neutralize him somehow…" Ginny began but stopped when she did not see Phillipe slumped in the broken glass.

 

"Damn! He's disappeared," Ginny said, her eyes scanning every inch of the room while her ears listened for the faintest sound. They heard a loud, muffled scream come from below them.

 

"Harry!" Ron yelled, but not before a red ball of energy hit him in his chest. He screamed as his shirt briefly caught fire before being extinguished. Another flash of red light missed Ginny by inches as she dove to the floor behind the couch. Ron took cover behind a chair that sat overturned.

 

"Only a coward would fight by hiding under a cloak or a charm," Ginny said into the silent room. "Show yourself and fight me. If you want me, then you will have to beat me!"

 

Phillipe's frame appeared in front of the fireplace, his wand pointing directly at Ginny. "A tempting offer, red. What do I get if I win?"

 

"Bragging rights. Who wouldn't be impressed that you beat a seventeen year old girl?"

 

"And if you win?" 

 

Ginny swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice calm. "If I win, then you'll be dead. That's all the prize I need."

 

"A challenge?" Phillipe grinned. "I accept, but first let's make it fair."

 

He waved his wand at the sofa, bringing it to hover in midair. Ron began to stand up from behind the chair when the sofa was hurled toward him. It connected with his leg, breaking Ron's ankle and pinning him beneath the weight of the furniture. He howled, and for a moment the room spun as lights seemed to explode behind his eyes. When he recovered his senses enough to reach for his wand, he found it had fallen out of reach. 

 

"Bastard!" Ginny shouted as she sent a volley of curses at Phillipe. He countered with defenses and non-verbal spells that created a battlefield inside the parlor room. The sizzle and constant colorful glow of each spell and curse reflected across the room as the magic began to destroy what was left of the once majestic room.

 

The wail of a Caterwauling Charm mingled with the barrage of bangs and crashes, and Ron clamped his hands over his ears to mute the cacophony. Neither Ginny nor Phillipe missed a beat; the duel continued to rage through the noise.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

“Is there a way out? A door? A window?” Hermione panted. She could hear the rattle of metallic plates and the shriek of hinges.

 

“This way!” Narcissa steered her down another hallway and then another. 

 

The metallic sounds grew louder behind them, and Hermione fought the urge to look over her shoulder. They reached a set of double doors, which Narcissa threw open and Hermione locked behind them once they had passed through. When Hermione heard shrieks all around her, she first thought that they had triggered yet another Caterwauling Charm. Glancing around the room, she realized that this was the owlry. At least a dozen birds cried and rattled their cages, clamoring for food or freedom. 

 

Narcissa was halfway to the leaded glass window on the far side of the room. Hermione ran after her, pointing at cages and repeating, “Carcero Aperio!” As the cage doors swung open, the birds escaped and darted around the room, stirring up a cloud of dust with their wings and raining shed feathers. By the time they reached the window, the tip of the sword was protruding from between the double doors, and they could hear the suit pounding on the wood. 

 

A simple blasting charm shattered the window outwards, spraying shards of glass into the garden below. Hermione grabbed Narcissa's arm and climbed onto the sill. 

 

“Are you mad?” Narcissa hissed. “The fall will kill us!” 

 

“Not if I time it right. And I think that--” she pointed to the metal gauntlet that had just punched its way through the door “-- is going to kill us anyway.” 

 

The door gave way, sending the birds into a fearful frenzy as the suit stormed through the ruins of the wood. Pointing at the rafters, where the majority of the birds had fled, Hermione said, “Oppungo,” and watched as the owls descended upon the suit, which flailed its arms and continued its advance. 

 

Narcissa gripped Hermione's free hand and nodded. “I will trust you.” She climbed onto the sill. 

 

Hermione swallowed, trying not to think about the cobblestone walkway below or the rose bushes or the broken glass. From this height, it wouldn't matter what they fell onto anyway. “Now,” she whispered. As they jumped, she called, “Arresto Momentum!” praying that the spell could take effect before they reached the ground. 

 

The thrill of falling came as a dizzying rush, and when Hermione landed safely with only the quiet crunch of broken glass beneath her feet, she nearly laughed with relief. Narcissa tugged on her arm and the two began jogging along the wall of the manor, moving toward the front door. 

 

A moment later, Hermione whirled at the sound of a metallic crash. Under the broken window of the owlery, the animated armor wobbled to its feet and then resumed its single-minded pursuit. 

 

“Run for the door,” Narcissa urged. “Don't look back!” 

 

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “We'll just be leading it back to the others. We have to find a way to stop it.” She darted onto one of the garden paths, hoping that the suit would have trouble navigating the maze of hedges and flowers. 

 

Her sides ached, and her legs had begun to cramp. She could hear Narcissa gasping beside her, and the woman's steps were becoming more uneven. The suit clanked and clattered behind them, its hinges screaming in protest. Perhaps it would fall apart from metal fatigue, although Hermione doubted that physical laws applied to magical systems. She looked back over her shoulder and watched in sick fascination as the automaton closed the distance between them. 

 

A blaze of pain shot up from her shin, and Hermione screamed as she fell forward, tripping over what turned out to be the low wall surrounding a giant stone fountain. She plunged forward into the water and might have hit her head on the bottom if not for Narcissa grabbing the back of her robe. A wall of water cascaded over her, poured from a stone urn in the hands of a marble mermaid. Narcissa continued to tug at Hermioe's robe, pulling her out of the fountain, but it was too late. Her fall had cost them precious seconds, and the armor was nearly upon them. 

 

Hermione crouched on the far edge of the fountain, holding her breath in anticipation. 

 

“Go!” Narcissa shouted, jerking hard on Hermione's arm. 

 

The suit continued inexorably, stepping into the fountain as it made a direct line for Hermione and Narcissa. The water hardly slowed it, and it ignored the torrent pouring from above. 

 

“Glacius,” Hermione murmured, just as the suit was directly below the mermaid's urn. 

 

The water froze instantly, encasing the armor in a wall of ice. Hermione ran behind it, pointed her wand, and shouted, “Reducto!” 

 

Unable to move to deflect her spell, the armor exploded, sending bits of glass and metal flying. To be on the safe side, she cast a disenchantment spell on a few of the larger pieces before allowing herself to breath a sigh of relief and share a smile with Narcissa. 

 

“Stay behind me,” Hermione said as they approached the front door to the Manor. “Ron and Ginny may still be fighting with Phillipe.” Or he may have captured or killed them both by now. She buried that thought, feeling disloyal for having let it enter her mind. 

 

“No.” Narcissa shook her head and put a hand on Hermione's arm, stopping her from opening the door. “Give me your wand and stay behind me.” 

 

“Mrs. Malfoy!” Hermione groaned. She could feel Narcissa's hand trembling. “I appreciate that you want to protect me, but you're--”

 

“Old? Weak? Foolish?” Her grip tightened painfully. “I am all of those, yes, but I am the one who has unfinished business with Lucius, and with Phillipe.” 

 

Remembering the black fog enveloping Harry and the flames catching Ron's robe, Hermione decided that now was not the time to argue. She handed Narcissa the wand, planning to call it back at the first sign of danger, and they entered the Manor. 

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

This time Draco was prepared for the unforgivable, and his shield charm prevented the curse from impacting Harry or himself. The curse rebounded back toward Lucius, and the older Malfoy narrowly evaded it. 

 

The results gave Draco the one opportunity that he needed. With all of the anger from years of pain at the hands of his father, Draco strode to the middle of the small room, his heart beating rapidly, while fire burned in his eyes. "Crucio!" The voice was not his, but another voice that hissed the word like a snake.

 

The curse caught Lucius completely by surprise as the effects ravaged him. He thrashed and convulsed as his body feebly tried to curl itself into a fetal position. Draco hovered above him, relentless in letting go of the Unforgivable.

 

"For my Mother!" Draco screamed as the curse intensified. "For me!" He shouted as his legs began to shake from the effects of using such powerful and dark magic for a protracted period of time. "Die, you bastard, die!"

 

Moments later, Draco could not hold the dark magic any longer. His arms fell loosely to his sides, as he stood above Lucius, panting heavily. Sweat poured down his face, biting at the nasty gash on his cheek and matting his hair to his scalp and forehead. Lucius lay on the ground twitching helplessly, but still alive. 

 

"Killing you with magic," Draco panted, "would be too good for you." He reached down and unbuckled the dagger that Lucius kept on his belt. "Potter lied about me, Father." Draco grinned as he dragged the tip of the dagger across Lucius' cheek, making a gash that mirrored his own. "In every way that counts, I'm exactly like you. I'm going to enjoy this more than you ever enjoyed hurting me or Mother. Azkaban would not be a fitting end for you." He raised the dagger to his shoulder and momentarily looked at his reflection in the shining metal blade. "You deserve to die a very slow and painful death." 

 

Lucius rolled over, his wand bursting forth a red blast that sent Draco across the room. He landed hard, his momentum sending him barreling across the floor until he hit the wall near Harry's still body. Before he could recover, Draco felt himself lifted into the air and propped against the wall. His body was immobile, except for his head. Lucius stood and walking forward, swaying as he tried to recuperate from Draco's Unforgivable curse.

 

"It's no use fighting against it," Lucius hissed as Draco tried to free himself from the invisible bonds that held his body against the dirt wall. A loud crash overhead caused Lucius to pause as he looked up once more at the ceiling. "No matter." 

 

He wrapped his hand around Draco's throat, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs. "Now, you will be the one to die. I tire of your meddling existence!" Lucius shouted, his voice ringing through the narrow stone passage.

 

"Then end it!" Draco snarled back, his voice choking with emotion and lack of air.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Lit candles still hung in the air, but now their glow illuminated a grim battle zone. The air smelled of smoke and ozone, making Hermione's eyes water as she took in the sight of burned walls and demolished furniture. A chorus of screams and sobs came from the hallway, where several of the Malfoy family portraits had been mutilated. 

 

“Narcissa!” A strong male voice called from the floor, and Hermione looked down to see Abraxas pacing the canvas of his painting, which hung loosely from its mangled frame. “Narcissa, you must help my son see the error of his ways! His servant is but a feral beast. He will destroy this house and bring ruin to the family!” 

 

“I think he already has,” Hermione muttered. 

 

Holding the wand in front of her in both hands, Narcissa entered the parlor, Hermione only a step behind. The room was destroyed beyond recognition. The curtains hung in shreds, cool night air blasted through the broken window, and all of the furniture had been flung around the room. Only the grandiose crystal chandelier remained intact, scintillating with its many magically lit candles. In the center of the room, Phillipe stood atop an overturned upholstered chair, waving his wand to deflect a barrage of spells from Ginny, who stood in front of the fireplace. In between them, Ron lay on the floor, one ankle pinned beneath the sofa, his hand reaching desperately for his wand. 

 

“Ron!” Hermione gasped.

 

Narcissa pointed Hermione's wand at Phillipe, but before she could speak, Ginny raised her own wand above her head and called, “Descendo!” 

 

Phillipe made a flicking motion with his wand, but he was not the target of the spell. He looked upward just in time to watch the crystal chandelier come crashing down on top of him. The large wizard crumpled under the weight of hundreds of faceted baubles, and the floor reverberated from the impact. While Hermione ran to help Ron, Ginny used a spell to smother the fallen candles, plunging the room into near-darkness. 

 

Narcissa lit the tip of Hermione's wand and picked her way through the shards of crystal. When she saw Phillipe's face protruding from under the ruined fixture, she kicked it, smiling when she got no response. Her smile faded as she turned in a circle, taking in the extent of the damage. Nudging Phillipe once more with the toe of her shoe, she said, “It's a terrible shame about the chandelier.” 

 

Ginny laughed. “Sorry about that.” 

 

Having lifted the sofa with a spell, Hermione pulled Ron to his feet and handed his wand to him. 

 

“You're brilliant, Gin!” Ron grinned enthusiastically, elbowing Hermione. “Did you see the look on his face before that thing fell on him?” 

 

“Yes, but we don't have time for a victory celebration. Harry and Draco are still down there.” Hermione pointed to the door leading down to the dungeon. 

 

“With Lucius,” Narcissa added. “If he has done anything to harm my son...” The light wobbled as her hand trembled with rage. 

“There's some sort of black fog,” Hermione warned, but Narcissa had already opened the doors and started down the stairs. 

 

Hermione followed her, supporting Ron as he hobbled on his injured ankle. Ginny trailed behind them, holding her lit wand above their heads. 

 

Narcissa and the others had reached the bottom gate now. The fog had dissipated, and Hermione could clearly make out Draco pressed against the wall of the dungeon, Lucius standing before him, wand drawn. A dark, crumpled heap in the corner could only be Harry, and Hermione put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. Narcissa murmured softly, her lips close to the lock, as she waved Hermione's wand in an intricate pattern. 

 

\---------------------------------------------- 

 

“You've ruined everything for me!” Draco continued. “Go ahead! I don't care anymore!” He dropped his wand to his side and thrust out his chin, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 

Lucius shrugged. “Very well, then. You will die not only a sinner and a blood traitor but a coward, too. Avada--”

 

The gate flew open and banged against the wall. Before Lucius could continue the incantation, Narcissa screamed, “Crucio!” and a stream of red sparks spewed from Hermione's wand. Lucius fell, writhing, to the floor, his hands and feet drumming against the ground as if he were a toddler in the midst of a temper tantrum. 

 

Leaving Ron with Ginny, Hermione dashed across the room to check on Harry. Draco had beaten her there and had one arm under Harry's knees and the other behind his neck. He rose to his feet with Harry balanced in his arms, oblivious to the blood seeping from the back of Harry's head and onto Draco's robes. 

 

“Is he--” Hermione didn't dare finish the question. 

 

“He's breathing. We have to get him out of here. Can you lift the anti-disapparation spell?” 

 

“Not easily. It'll be faster to take him off the Manor grounds and disapparate from there.” Seeing Harry’s wand protruding from Draco’s pocket, she took it and used it to cast a Featherweight spell. “You should be able to carry him now.” 

 

Draco nodded and darted for the stairs. Hermione followed but paused when she reached Narcissa, who stood over her husband with a strangely blank expression as the red sparks continued to pour from Hermione’s wand like water from the marble mermaid's ewer. Lucius' screams had faded into soft whimpers and gasps. 

 

“Enough!” Hermione barked. “Your son needs you.”

 

“As does my husband.” Narcissa's mouth curled into a sneer vicious enough to make Draco's look like a friendly smile. “You have no idea what I have endured, how long I have waited for this day.” 

 

“Go help Harry,” Ginny said, gesturing to the stairs. “Ron and I will make sure she gets back alive.” 

 

“Don't do this, Narcissa!” Hermione pleaded. “You're not like him! This isn't--” 

 

“Granger!” Draco screamed her name from the floor above. 

 

After one glance back at Lucius' rictus of agony, Hermione ran to catch Draco up. Moments later, they were shambling side-by-side down the cobblestone drive. Her feet felt like bricks, and her lower left leg throbbed where she had bruised it on the fountain. Beside her, Draco panted and shifted Harry's limp body in his arms, struggling in spite of the Featherweight spell. By the time they had reached the gate, Hermione heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Ron limping toward her, supported by Ginny on his right and Narcissa on his left. They all passed through the open gate together, and Hermione allowed herself to rest, leaning forward with her hands on her thighs, gulping in air. 

 

A cry sounded from the roof of the manor, and Hermione looked up to see Orion diving toward them. The eagle slowed his descent by circling them a few times before landing gracefully on Draco's shoulder.

 

“Try taking us back to the Burrow now,” Draco urged. 

 

“Right.” She nodded, still catching her breath. When she was reasonably sure she could apparate without splinching anyone, she wrapped her left hand around one of Draco's wrists. His sleeve was wet with Harry's blood, and she cringed at the slickness. “Hold onto him,” she whispered. 

 

After an agonizing instant that felt like being sucked through a drinking straw, Hermione opened her eyes to see the Burrow, every window lit. Draco shook her hand away and pulled Harry closer to his chest while Orion repositioned his claws for a better grip. Ron, Ginny, and Narcissa soon appeared in front of them. Ron still leaned heavily on Ginny, and Narcissa came to stand behind Draco, her arm on his shoulder. 

 

"We did it," Ron panted, his voice incredulous. "We actually made it back!"

 

"A bittersweet victory," Narcissa murmured, reaching over Draco to brush a lock of hair from Harry's forehead.

 

The door of the Burrow flew open and Molly Weasley stormed out, clad in brightly colored patchwork sleeping robes, her hair in disarray. Her cheeks glistened as if she had just been crying, but her voice was cool and steady as she said, “Ronald Billius and Ginerva Weasly!”


	26. The Fading Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a big change of pace from the action heavy monster that was chapter 25. Here, it slows things down a bit, as the plot continues to build. We get to touch upon a sister's lost reunion, and how their world has changed around them while also exploring Harry and Draco's relationship. Many thanks everyone for reading this story.

Chapter 26: The Fading Line

 

“How could you?” Molly demanded, throwing her hands in the air and letting them fall to her sides. “After your father and I specifically ordered you to stay here--” 

 

“Mrs. Weasley--” Hermione stepped toward Molly and reached out a hand, but Molly sidestepped her and then began wagging a finger. 

 

“You! Don't 'Mrs. Weasley' me! You were supposed to be the sensible one, and instead you drag my children off with that Death Eater!” Without looking at Draco, she waved a hand in his direction. 

 

“This isn't the time.” Draco had intended to shout the words, but they came out as a sigh. He walked past Molly, deliberately bumping her shoulder with his as he did so. From the doorway of the Burrow, he called, “Potter needs help, and your son is injured, too, if you care.” Hermione's Featherweight spell was beginning to wear off, and Draco staggered under Harry's weight. 

 

Orion flapped his wings and fluttered off into the night, wisely choosing to avoid entering the Weasleys' house. Draco wished he had the same luxury. Inside, Arthur Weasley paced in the kitchen wearing striped cotton pajama pants and a lace-trimmed sleeping robe that barely reached his knees. When he saw Draco with Harry, he rushed to clear a path to the tiny living room by moving chairs out of the way. Draco stumbled along behind him and managed to reach the couch just as his muscles failed him. Harry slid limply onto the cushions, and Draco slumped to his knees beside the couch. He wiped his hands furiously on his robe, hating the sticky feel of Potter's blood almost as much as the metallic smell. 

 

“Let me have a look.” Hermione's voice came from behind Draco, and he nodded and moved out of her way, giving her room to work. 

 

The rest of the group had made their way into the now-crowded room. While Narcissa helped Ron into a chair, Ginny and Molly traded angry words. 

 

“A sleeping spell on your own parents!” Molly spat. “After I gave birth to you, raised you, cared for you... I never believed my own daughter would curse me!” 

 

“It was a bloody charm, not a curse! And I wouldn't have had to do it if you weren't being an idiot!” 

 

“So I'm an idiot for wanting to protect the children I have left? Say that again when you have children of your own, if you manage to live that long. I didn't expect you to understand, I only hoped you and Ronald loved me enough to do as your father and I asked.” 

 

“That's low, Mum!” Ginny said. 

 

“Your mother has a right to be upset,” Arthur began, looking up from his examination of Ron's ankle. “This is a serious injury--”

 

“Episky!” Ginny shouted, pointing her wand at Ron. “Now it's fixed. Anything else to complain about?”

 

“You should have left that to a healer.” Arthur frowned in disapproval. 

 

“Nah. It's fine.” Ron rose to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside his sister. “Look, we snuck out, and you're upset. We get it. But we had to go. I mean, without Ginny, Phillipe Moreaux would have gotten Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy, and--” 

 

“Phillipe Moreaux was there?” Molly wailed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. 

 

“Yeah, but that's not the point. The point is that our parents--” he gave each of them a meaningful look “-- raised us to do the right thing, even when it's wrong, er, the wrong thing if it's right, well, you know...” 

 

“All I know is that I woke up to an empty house, not knowing if two of my children were dead or alive.” Molly put up a hand to forestall any further arguments. “No more explanations or excuses. From any of you!” She fixed her glare on each of them, even including Narcissa, who responded with a cold shrug. 

 

Draco turned back to Harry. Hermione finished her healing incantation, looked up to meet Draco's eyes, and spread her hands in an uncertain gesture. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be brilliant,” Draco said, glaring from her to Harry's motionless face. “Your spell failed, Granger. Think of something else, something that works this time!” 

 

Before Hermione could reply, Ginny grabbed Draco's shoulder and spun him around. “Don't you dare blame Hermione! You're the one who took him down to the dungeon, and for all I know, you're the one who closed the door. Whatever happens to Harry, it's your fault!” 

 

Ginny's words twisted a pin inside of him. He felt the blood drain from his face and his next words came out in a hoarse whisper. “Keep your hands off me, Weasley.” 

 

“No. You deserve this.” Before Draco could guess at what it was he 'deserved,' Ginny's fist connected with the injured side of his face, splitting open the cut from his father's ring and sending a fresh cascade of blood down his cheek. 

 

As he started to draw his wand, a strong hand had closed around his forearm. He struggled to free himself, but Arthur Weasley's arms encircled him in a crushing embrace. Molly and Narcissa flanked Ginny, each of them holding an arm. 

 

“Control your child, or I will,” Narcissa said sternly. 

 

“Your room, now!” Molly ordered, jerking her daughter's arm and shoving her toward the stairs. 

 

With a final angry glare at Draco, Ginny ascended the stairs. Ron followed behind her, though Draco doubted he could keep his sister in check if she decided to commit any more acts of violence. 

 

“Can I trust you not to go after Ginny?” Arthur asked, half-releasing his grip on Draco. 

 

Draco nodded. “I don't care about her.” Arthur's arms fell away from him, and he knelt once more beside Harry. 

 

“I've done everything I can,” Hermione said. 

 

Ignoring her, Draco slapped Harry across the face, and when that got no response, he hit him again, harder. “Wake up, damn it!”

 

“That's not helping!” Hermione admonished.

 

“Draco...” Narcissa murmured. She had knelt beside him and put an arm around his shoulders, and he could smell the familiar floral notes of her perfume over the stench of blood and sweat that pervaded the room. 

 

“Wake. Up.” Draco repeated, pinching Harry this time. “Say something. Anything. Insult me. Patronize me. I don't care! I just need you to wake up, I--” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. 

 

Hermione heaved a loud sigh. “I didn't want to do this, but... Renervate.”

 

The spell made Harry's body jerk, and his eyelids fluttered before flinging open. His head raised and then fell back on the pillow with a thud. One of his hands flailed until Draco caught it and squeezed. 

 

“You're... alive,” Harry breathed. 

 

“Thanks to Mother.” Draco jerked his chin toward Narcissa, who shook her head. 

 

“Thank your resourceful friend.” Narcissa placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. “Without her, I would perhaps still be captive.” 

 

“Ron? Ginny?” Harry strained to raise his head up again, and his eyes darted around the room. 

 

Hermione answered before anyone else could think of an apt quip. “They're fine. It's you I'm still worried about. We should take you to a proper healer--”

 

“No! There would be too many questions.” Harry shook his head slightly, and his hand tightened on Draco's. “Draco and Narcissa need to lie low until the trial. Besides, I'm alright.” He used Draco's hand to pull himself up, but fell back before Draco could help him to his feet. 

 

“But you're not!” Hermione protested. 

 

“Just help me to bed. Please, Hermione, no more arguing.” Harry sat up again, and this time Draco reached a hand behind his back before he could fall. Shaking her head in resignation, Hermione moved to prop him up on the left side while Draco remained on his right. 

 

Seeing Harry awake, Molly broke away from the hushed conversation she had held with Arthur and rushed to greet Harry, kissing his cheeks and murmuring a mixture of platitudes and rebukes. 

 

“You overwhelm him,” Narcissa said. She moved behind Harry and helped Draco and Hermione steer him toward the stairs, away from Molly's attentions. 

 

“I worried for him as much as for my own children,” Molly protested. 

 

“But you do not understand what he has survived.” Narcissa released Harry and positioned herself at the bottom of the staircase, preventing Molly from following Harry, Hermione, and Draco up the stairs. 

 

By the time they reached the twins' room, Draco and Hermione were half-dragging, half-carrying Harry. He moaned softly as they positioned him on one of the beds, then fell silent. 

 

“It was only the spell keeping him awake then?” Draco asked. 

 

Hermione nodded as she pulled off Harry's shoes and proceeded to take the blanket from the empty bed and spread it over him. When she had finished smoothing the blanket, she stepped in front of Draco, standing toe-to-toe with him. Wisps of hair fanned out around her head, and her face was smeared with blood and dirt. 

 

She raised one hand toward Draco's face and reached for her wand with the other. “You're hurt, too.” 

 

Draco snorted and brushed her hand away. “Yes, Weasley has a better arm than you. But you don't have to--” His protest came too late. She was already saying the spell. 

 

He probed the newly healed skin on his cheek, wondering if he would still have the scar he deserved, or if she had erased his last physical reminder of his father. At least Ginny wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing the bruise she had no doubt given him.

 

“Sorry about Ginny.” Hermione grimaced as she wiped the blood from her fingers onto her robe. “She's just--”

 

“She's right!” Draco said bitterly. “It was my fault. I shouldn't have let this happen to him.” 

 

“You didn't let it happen. I was there, at least at the beginning. Lucius trapped you! You can't blame yourself. I don't, and I know Harry won't, either.” 

 

“That only makes it worse!” Draco spun in search of something to kick before deciding that any sudden impacts might disturb Harry, which he couldn't risk. “Just go, Granger. Find someone else to feel sorry for.” 

 

“Fine. And you're welcome, by the way.” She pivoted and stalked out of the room. A moment later, her head peeked around the edge of the door, and she said, “I assume I can trust you to call for me if Harry needs help.” 

 

Draco nodded, and this time he locked the door behind her when she left. 

 

Once he was relatively sure no one would disturb him, he sat down on the edge of the bed and bent close to Harry so that their faces almost touched. He could hear Harry's breathing, which was shallow, but regular, almost as if he were sleeping normally. Carefully, he removed Harry's glasses, which had miraculously stayed in place, folded them, and put them on the shelf above the bed. 

 

“Of all the things you've put me through, Potter, this is the worst.” Using the tip of his index finger, he brushed the hair away from Harry's forehead and lightly traced the bolt-shaped scar there. “When I thought you were gone, all I could think was that this is so like you to leave me after I just found out that all the feelings I have, you have, too. And now you're torturing me worse than my father ever did.” 

 

His muscles went rigid for a moment as a wave of frustration coursed through him. When the rage dissipated, something else replaced it, something that drove him to touch his brow to Harry's and then move down until his forehead rested on the bridge of Harry's nose. 

 

“I'm going to make you a promise,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, I will never put you in danger again.” 

 

Harry remained still, his breathing the only reassurance that he was still alive. Draco swung his legs up onto the bed, half-hoping that the motion would jolt Harry awake and half-glad when it didn't. This way, there would be no questions, no teasing, no temptation to cross the fading line he had set for himself. He turned on his side in order to fit on the narrow bunk, squeezing between Harry and the wall. His left arm slid under Harry's neck, and his right hand flattened over Harry's heart so that Draco could feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

When Harry woke, his eyelids felt like sandpaper, and the inside of his mouth tasted rancid. His ears rang with a high-pitched, mosquito-like whine. The chore of sitting up proved too much for him as muscles he hadn't realized he had cried in protest. Before he could flop back on the bed, however, gentle hands were on his shoulders. He forced his eyes open and found himself looking into a pair of slate-blue orbs. 

 

“Narcissa.” He croaked the name, hoping he had kept the disappointment out of his voice. He remembered half-waking and feeling Draco's body next to his, but it must have been part of a dream. 

 

“You expected someone else.” Her mouth twisted into a tiny smile. “Draco is with Arthur Weasley in the kitchen. He only agreed to answer Arthur's questions when I promised to watch over you.” 

 

“Then he was here.” Harry smiled to himself, and even that small movement hurt. Gritting his teeth, he raised an arm for Narcissa to take, and she helped him to his feet. His head throbbed, and he envisioned it swelling and shrinking like that of an old-fashioned cartoon character. 

 

“I could hardly pry him from you.” Narcissa took Harry's glasses from the shelf above the bed and put them in his right hand, still holding onto his left arm. 

 

Harry put his glasses on and let himself be led from the room, embarrassed that he needed Narcissa's help to stand, but sure he would be even more humiliated if he let go of her and tumbled down the stairs as a result. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he shook off her arm and made his way to the kitchen, where Arthur and Draco sat opposite each other.

 

“-- couldn't tell,” Draco was saying. “I saw something under the chandelier, but it could have been anyone. I was focused on other things at the time.” He glanced up at Harry. “I see you've remembered how to walk. That's good, because I wasn't going to carry you again.” 

 

“Again?” Harry repeated, vaguely aware of how dull he sounded. People's voices sounded as if they came from the other end of a long tunnel, and they echoed in his head as if it were some great, empty chamber. He tried to picture Draco carrying him and couldn't. 

 

“You were injured badly,” Arthur explained. “I don't know how much you remember, but Draco brought you here last night.” 

 

Harry sank into one of the chairs next to Arthur, while Narcissa hovered behind her son. “The last thing I remember is Lucius throwing me against the wall.” Harry rubbed at the back of his head, marveling at the fact his skull was now intact. “He was going to kill us both. I thought--” he closed his eyes, reliving the moment and feeling his muscles tense and his heart race. He looked at Draco, unable to finish his thought out loud. I thought I had failed you. 

 

“I know,” Arthur said quietly. “Draco told me about the confrontation in the dungeon.” He leaned forward on the table, frowning up at Narcissa. “It appears matters at Malfoy Manor were not as you described them when I visited.” 

 

Narcissa lowered her eyes, and her hands tensed on Draco's shoulders, making him wince. 

 

“If you had told me the truth,” Arthur continued, “I could have had a team of Aurors at Malfoy Manor and our children would not have risked their lives to rescue you.” 

 

“Had I told you the truth, Phillipe Moreaux would have struck me dead on the spot, and likely you with me. He was in the room with us, beneath an invisibility cloak-- Lucius' means of ensuring my cooperation. Still, if I had known that my Draco lived, I might have chanced it.” Narcissa stroked the back of Draco's hair and bent to kiss the top of his head before he batted her away. 

 

“None of that matters!” Draco snapped. “My father is dead, along with Moreaux. Potter can tell the Wizengamot that I killed Father in self-defense. We can all move forward.” 

 

Narcissa sighed and sank into the chair next to Draco. “Draco, Lucius lives. After you left, I was unable to complete the act. Ginny Weasley helped me to bind Lucius in the dungeon with several hexes and charms, and then we came to join you.” 

 

“Unable to...” Draco shook his head in disgust. “After everything he's done to you, after he tried to kill me, after he nearly killed Potter, how could you? What is his life worth to you?” 

 

“He gave me you,” Narcissa replied. “And when we were reunited, it was as if I had been given yet another gift. I could not--” 

 

“Clearly Potter isn't the only one who's had his wits knocked out of him,” Draco muttered. “I'm alive in spite of Father, and now because of you I'm still in danger. We all are, and he'll know where to find us.” He glanced around the room as if expecting Lucius to pop out from under an invisibility cloak at any moment.

 

“No.” Arthur shook his head firmly and repeated, “No. I'll pay a visit to the ministry today and have a team there to collect Lucius.” 

 

“And he'll talk!” Draco flushed and looked down at his hands. “He'll say... things about me, what I did, what I said...” He glanced at Narcissa. “If I had known you didn't have the guts to kill him, I would have done it myself before I left.” 

 

Harry reached across the table to cover Draco's hands with his. “He attacked us, not the other way around. We were only there to find your mother. If he says otherwise, it will be my word against his. Anything else he says... Does it matter?” 

 

Before Draco could answer, Narcissa made a dismissive noise and flicked her hand as if swatting a fly. “Anything he says will be the ramblings of a mad man, nothing more.” 

 

Arthur nodded agreement and rose from the table. “Molly is making arrangements for you, Narcissa. Draco, Harry, I've contacted a friend who can provide a safe place to stay until the trial. I need to go to the ministry now, but Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are outside working in the garden, and the Burrow is set with enough wards and charms to make Gringots jealous.” Smiling reassuringly, he grabbed a pinch of flu powder and disappeared into the hearth. 

 

“So he's kicking us out,” Draco said, glaring at the fireplace. 

 

“You hate it here,” Harry reminded him. 

 

“I hated it at your filthy house, too! I hate running more. And I hate worrying about you. About both of you.” Draco pulled his hands away from Harry's and pointed to Harry, then Narcissa. 

 

“Worrying, running, when have either of us ever known anything else?” Harry asked softly. 

 

“It's not fair!” Draco struck the table with a fist and then rose to his feet. “I thought all of this was over. I should go back and finish it myself--” 

 

“Then you'll have let him win. You'll have let him make you a murderer,” Harry said. 

 

Narcissa met his eyes and nodded agreement. 

 

“Gryffindor logic!” Draco snorted and stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. 

 

“You have such patience with him,” Narcissa said, her mouth turning up in that same odd little smile she had shown earlier. 

 

“Only because I'm not well enough to curse him or strangle him.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to alleviate the pain. “I don't know how you stood him for eighteen years.” 

 

She shrugged. “My task was easier than yours; I think you will be stuck with him far longer.” 

 

“I doubt it. Once the trial is over and I've cleared his name, he'll be able to run, and I won't give him the satisfaction of chasing him.”

 

“If you believe that, Draco has not been as honest with you as he has with me.” 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

The door of the Burrow swung open, admitting Molly Weasley, who continued to hold the door open as if expecting someone to follow her through. The woman wore a set of dishwater-gray robes that were even more dreadful than those she had lent to Narcissa. The fabric looked like something that belonged on a house elf, and Narcissa made a mental note to send the Weasleys a decent sum of gold to thank them for lodging her and Draco. 

 

“Harry!” Molly greeted, flashing him a smile before acknowledging Narcissa and Draco with a less enthusiastic nod. “Narcissa, Draco. I'm glad you're all here. Well, come in, come in, no one's going to bite.” Molly said the last few words over her shoulder as she looked through the open doorway. 

 

Draco, standing at the window, had a better view of the door, and his face lit up with recognition when he saw whoever was on the other side. When the person stepped in, Narcissa gasped, thinking for a brief moment that she looked upon a ghost. The visitor had the same dark hair and thin, aquiline features as Bellatrix, but the resemblance ended there. Bellatrix's hair and robes had never been so neat, and she was the last person Narcissa would expect to see clutching a fluffy, pale blue blanket. 

 

A tiny hand and then a face peeked out from the blanket. Narcissa was torn between a sense of revulsion at the reminder of her niece's union with a werewolf and a maternal imperative to touch that tiny hand. As she wrestled with her own reactions, Draco surprised her by crossing the room and greeting Andromeda, even letting her put her free arm across his shoulders in a brief hug. 

 

“If you would...” Andromeda smiled at Draco and held out the blanket-wrapped infant. 

 

“Of course.” Smiling, Lucius apparently forgotten, Draco took the bundle and sat down in the chair across from Narcissa, next to Harry. “Mother, this is Teddy Lupin.” 

 

“I had guessed,” Narcissa murmured. The infant looked healthy and well-formed, its wide, slate-blue eyes blinking curiously at her, its head matted with pale gold curls. She didn't know what she had expected the creature to look like-- a hairy atrocity with wolf fangs, perhaps-- but she certainly hadn't expected it to look so much like Draco had at that age. 

 

“He's a metamorphmagus,” Draco said proudly, as if explaining the enchantments on some new magical toy. “Watch him long enough, and he'll change his appearance.” 

 

“I'm sure he will,” she replied absently. Teddy had wrapped his hand around Draco's index finger and was bending it toward his round, pink mouth. “Careful, Draco! Put him down now, or give him to Harry.” She stood and backed away, watching in frustration as Draco rolled his eyes and continued to hold the werewolf's son. 

 

Andromeda's laugh made Narcissa's face heat, and she spun to face her sister. 

 

“He's not infected,” Andromeda assured her. “Do you think I would put my own nephew at risk?” 

 

“I do not know what you would do!” Narcissa snapped. Her flush deepened. She was embarrassing herself, but it was because she was caught off-balance, and wearing Molly Weasley's robes, no less! “So this--” Narcissa gestured to Andromeda, but spoke to Molly. “This is the arrangement you have made for me?” 

 

Molly shrugged. “I thought you would prefer to stay with family. Arthur can't hide you from the ministry, not here, and there won't be enough room for you to stay with the boys.”

 

“I can offer you a safe place to stay until the trial,” Andromeda agreed. “Molly explained everything about Lucius--”

 

“And you've come to gloat? Have you come to tell me how my choice of husbands was far worse than yours, how Ted gave you nothing but pride, while Lucius is my shame, and will shame me still more when I am dragged before the Wizengamot to answer for his crimes? He is worse than a Muggle-born, worse even than a werewolf! Is that what you're here to tell me?” 

 

“Clearly, I don't need to. Narcissa, I can put the past behind me. For their sake, if not yours or mine.” She waved a hand at Draco, who had scooted his chair out from the table and now balanced Teddy on his knee. 

 

Narcissa bit her lip, considering the prospect of accepting charity from the sister she had scorned for so many years. Molly and Andromeda both remained silent, so that the only sounds in the room came from the kitchen table. 

 

“--always wanted a little brother,” Draco was saying, “so I could teach him how to do things properly, make sure he doesn't turn into a slob like you.” He gave the dirty collar of Harry's robe a meaningful flick and then reached up to muss Harry's already disheveled hair. 

 

“More like someone to follow you around and pay attention to you.” Harry snorted and swatted Draco's hand away. “If you think I'm letting my godson grow up to be a Slytherin, you're mental.” 

 

“You'd hate that, wouldn't you? I think I'll bring him one of my school ties next time I visit.” Draco grinned and shifted Teddy on his lap. 

 

Narcissa had become so entranced watching the boys that she nearly jumped when Andromeda put a hand on her shoulder. “They were enemies once,” Andromeda muttered. “Now, they are something else. If Draco and Harry can grow so close in so little time, surely we can tolerate each other for just a few days. Or is your son so much stronger than you?” 

 

Narcissa shrugged and sidestepped away from Andromeda's touch. Her sister's words struck a nerve, but she had regained enough composure not to answer the barb with more vitriol of her own. “I never said we could not tolerate each other, I was only surprised that you would have me.” Her eyes stung as she said that, and she bit her lip to keep from saying more. It would not do to have a torrent of tearful reminiscences come flooding out in front of Draco, Molly Weasley, and Harry Potter. 

 

“Then it's decided!” Molly clapped her hands, interrupting the moment and saving Narcissa from having to say anything more. She beamed around the room, looking almost offensively pleased at the thought of being rid of Narcissa. “You'll be comfortable there, I'm sure, but if you need anything-- anything!-- send an owl.” 

 

“We'll be fine,” Andromeda assured Molly as she collected a squirming, reluctant Teddy from Draco. 

 

“All of us will be fine,” Narcissa added on impulse. “I want Draco to come with me.” She thrust her chin out, daring anyone to argue. 

 

Molly cringed. “I told Arthur you would say that.” 

 

“I should go,” Draco said. 

 

“No--” Harry began at the same time Molly said, “Think this through.” 

 

“What if Lucius has another minion sent after you?” Molly continued. “What if Phillipe Moreaux wasn't the only one? If that person finds both of you together, he'll have an easy job, won't he? If he only finds one of you, he'll try to use you as bait to catch the other. That's what Lucius has done before.” 

 

“Nonsense!” Narcissa waved her left hand in a dismissive gesture and reached for Draco with her right. 

 

“No,” Draco sighed, frowning. “She's probably right. And after what I said to Father, it's me, well, it's us--” he glanced at Harry “-- that he wants dead more than you. I'd only put you in more danger. Go with Andromeda.” 

 

Narcissa closed her eyes and felt a tear slither down her cheek. “I was so sure I had lost you that now I can hardly bear to be apart from you. Draco, you are my reason for being, I--” 

 

“Mother! Stop it.” Draco groaned. “It's only for a few days, and then we have the rest of our lives.” 

 

Narcissa dabbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve and glanced at Andromeda, foolishly embarrassed that her older sister might be watching her cry and thinking her weak. “Yes, of course. The rest of our lives.” She managed to look away from her son long enough to lock eyes with Harry. “Take care of him.” 

 

Harry nodded to Narcissa and then grinned when he noticed the disgusted look on Draco's face. “I'll be sure he doesn't do anything stupid.” 

 

Molly opened the front door, and Narcissa let herself be led from the house and into the garden. The sudden brightness made her eyes ache, and she raised a hand to shield them. Something brushed past her ankle, and she looked down to see a gnome streak by. Once safely out of reach, the creature turned around to taunt her, shouting meaningless expletives and waving what appeared to be a small green and yellow scepter. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was a daffodil plucked from Molly's flowerbed. Having finished its tirade, the gnome brought the stem to its mouth and bit down, letting the flower drop to the ground. 

 

“Come, let's go home now.” Andromeda looped her arm through Narcissa's, and a few excruciating seconds later, they stood in the presumably gnomeless garden of an immaculate cottage. 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The purple paper airplane soared through the large atrium and past the sparkling fountain, reaching the lift just before the gated doors clanged shut. Restricted to such a confined space, the memo circled like a predator above the witches and wizards who stood listening to the polite female voice as the lift stopped with each level. The purple airplane zoomed around as the gates opened, allowing the memo the freedom to continue its journey. It flew down a long corridor, narrowly avoiding crashing into several wizards and dodging other interdepartmental memos along the way until it finally flew into a small office room.

 

The paper memo flew in front of the wizard, trying to pull his attention from the parchments that he held in his hand. Growing frustrated at not being read, the memo gained speed as it banked hard in the air and launched forward, crashing into the parchments that the man held and causing them to scatter onto the floor.

 

"What the…?" the wizard exclaimed as he glanced around for the cause of the mess. His eyes came upon the folded purple airplane that lay buzzing on the desk. "Merlin's beard, ruddy little thing has a mind of its own. What new features will those lads in Development come up with next?"

 

Arthur unfolded the memo and read with careful deliberation. "Damn!" he exclaimed and wadded the memo into a crumpled ball. Arthur Weasley tossed it over his shoulder, and into the corner, slightly off target of the wastebasket. 

 

He took his glasses off and tossed them onto the scattered parchments that lay across his desk. Massaging the bridge of his nose, Arthur leaned back in his chair and let his mind reflect on the events of the past twenty-four hours. 

 

It's all so different now. Arthur thought. I hardly know where to begin with it all. Harry and Draco Malfoy, friends, and possibly more than that. Narcissa Malfoy staying at my home without Molly cursing them. Narcissa! Just a few months ago her sister tried to kill my Ginny. Death Eaters missing or being killed. Lucius Malfoy, Phillipe Moreaux! Draco and Narcissa wanted by the Ministry, and here I am giving them safe harbor for as long as I can. 

 

Arthur increased the pressure on his nose as his mind tried to grasp the overwhelming reality of the situation. 

 

On the floor next to the waste bin, the discarded memo un-crumpled itself, refolded itself into a battered approximation of a plane, and launched into the air above the desk, hovering for a moment above Arthur Weasley, as if looking down on the man and pitying him. It then turned and haphazardly flew through the open door, passing the large man who stood beside it.

 

His long turquoise robes flowed across his large, muscular body as he looked back at the damaged memo crashing into the walls of the hallway. A slight chuckle escaped the man as he focused his attention upon Arthur Weasley who sat in his chair, his head leaned back and his fingers vigorously massaging the area between his eyes.

 

"Working hard, I see," Kingsley said as he smiled in greeting. 

 

Arthur quickly opened his eyes, and saw the massive wizard standing in the doorway of his office. "Ah Kingsley, please do come in. Oh, yes just taking a break from reading all of these reports," Arthur said as he extended his hand toward the chair in front of his desk.

 

Kingsley smiled and nodded as he sat down, placing his right knee over his left and lacing his fingers together. 

 

"Tea?" Arthur asked. 

 

"Yes, thank you. Earl Grey, please." 

 

Arthur waved his wand and two cups and saucers appeared upon the desk. "I see that becoming Minister has not changed your palate any," Arthur smiled as he took a sip of the hot, refreshing tea.

 

Kingsley smiled over the rim of his cup. "No, there are certain things that a man never changes. His taste in tea being one of those things." 

 

"I heartily agree. Molly is always trying to get us to sample some new brand of tea, but I always insist on staying with what we have always had. Why bother with changing something if it is already perfect, eh?"

 

Kingsley did not answer Arthur's question, but instead nodded his head and took another sip of tea. "So, what brings you all the way down here, or did you come here just to have a cup of tea with me?" Arthur asked as he placed the saucer onto the desk.

 

"I do have a few things that I would like to speak to you about, Arthur," Kingsley said as he placed the tea upon the desk. Arthur could feel the muscles in the back of his neck tighten at these words, but his face remained calm and friendly. "You don't mind do you?"

 

Arthur quickly smiled. "Of course not." 

 

Kingsley nodded in approval. Reaching for his wand, he waved it over his shoulder without turning to look at the door. The office door closed and locked shut, keeping away all disturbances that could potentially intrude upon this conversation.

 

"Very good," Kingsley's deep voice boomed. 

 

Before the Minister's next words, Arthur's mind raced to the thoughts that he had before arriving at the Ministry this morning. He knew that this conversation was going to happen, and he was thankful for his proactive decisions that he had taken the night before after everyone had arrived back from Malfoy Manor.

 

"First, before I began," Kingsley said as he rested his elbows upon the arms of the chair and once again laced his fingers together. "I want you to ignore the fact that I am the Minister of Magic. I would ask that you view me simply as Kingsley Shacklebolt, the man that you have known for years." 

 

Arthur steepled his own fingers in front of him as he focused on Kingsley. "Alright."

 

"Arthur," Kingsley began, "I have a very difficult task of piecing together what exactly happened at Malfoy Manor."

 

"I know of only what has been reported, Kingsley. I wasn't there. The only thing that I could tell you is what I have read in the reports."

 

Kingsley deeply sighed before speaking. "I have confirmed sources stating that you were seen going into Malfoy Manor the day before the incident. Not only that, but you took a team of Aurors as well," Kingsley's voice slightly became deeper with the statement. "Now, I would like to know…simply, why?"

 

Arthur did not allow his gaze to waver, instead focusing all of his concentration on the dark black eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "You of all people should know, Kingsley, that the Malfoys and my family have had our share of issues with one another. Yes, I did go there prior to the event. I went with the intentions of speaking to Lucius and Narcissa, in vain hope that we could somehow find a common ground to try and put the past behind us. You could say that I went there with an olive branch in hand."

 

Arthur stopped momentarily, awaiting Kingsley to say something, but he simply motioned for Arthur to continue. "Molly said that I was a damned fool for even trying, but after going through everything at Hogwarts and seeing his family, as they were in the Great Hall on that night, I felt like I had to try. You-Know-Who was dead, and I hoped that I could reach a sensible part of him or Narcissa."

 

"Why the Aurors?" Kingsley asked.

 

"Simply as a form of protection, if needed." Arthur said. "Strength in numbers. Now a question for you. Who do you have that is spying on me? And more importantly, why?"

 

Kingsley waved his hand at Arthur. "I assure you, Arthur, that I have no spies that are watching your every movement, nor that of your family. However, I cannot release the information of how I know that you visited Malfoy Manor. That is strictly confidential." 

 

"You ask me to be open and honest with you, yet you cannot be the same with me. That's not very fair is it, Minister?"

 

"Arthur, please. Do not make this any worse than it already is."

 

"And what exactly is ‘this’?" Arthur asked as he scooted closer to the edge of his chair. "Explain, Kingsley."

 

"I know, once again from my source, that two of your children along with the Granger girl, Draco Malfoy, and of all people, Harry Potter went to Malfoy Manor. Afterwards, there was a series of explosions and windows shattering. Upon my visit to the manor, I found that the Malfoy living room had been destroyed. Then we went downstairs into a cellar and found, of all people, Lucius Malfoy. He was disarmed, unconscious, and magically bound so that he could not move."

 

Arthur winced, imagining the extent of the damage that Ginny must have done. "There are still Death Eaters that are unaccounted for who hold a grudge against Lucius Malfoy and his family. Surely, you are not saying that my children, along with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, have created an alliance with Draco Malfoy and attacked Lucius Malfoy? That is preposterous!"

 

"Maybe so, but it still does not explain why they were there, and why they were seen leaving in the company of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, both of whom are wanted by the Ministry of Magic. And the question remains-- where are Draco and Narcissa now?”

 

Arthur's mind raced back to his childhood days of being caught in the middle of a lie. Another bead of sweat rolled down the back of his head as he ignored the tickling feeling that it left upon him. "So you are accusing me and my family of conspiring with a Death Eater, aiding upon an attack of said Death Eater, and finally harboring Death Eaters?" Arthur asked as he counted off the charges on his fingers.

 

"No." Kingsley shook his head. "Nobody is charging you or your family with anything, Arthur. I am a man of fairness. However, let me be perfectly clear. If you do have some association with the Malfoys, I urge you to distance yourself from them immediately."

 

"Really, Kingsley? So much for giving people second chances and being fair. What is so important about the Malfoy family that you must have a trial against them? What about other families who had a member that was a Death Eater? Why aren't they already on trial, if this is to be the way of you administration?"

 

"You question me, Arthur. You don't like my methods," Kingsley responded, banging his fist upon the arm of the chair and causing it to rattle. "Yet they will guarantee swift results. My predecessors did not have the boldness to take such a stance. With Voldemort gone, we must make a new life in which wizards will not even fathom trying to create a force as he did. Our world would not be able to survive a third war!"

 

"So that is what this is all about. Power? Making yourself into such a force that everyone will be afraid to oppose anything that you say? That's not the way of a leader, Kingsley, it's a dictatorship. It's just as bad as Volde…damn! It's just as bad as him!"

 

Kingsley titled his chin upward and glared across the desk at Arthur. "And what about your methods?” Arthur continued. "What if some wizards and witches are trying to connect with those that were on You -Know-Who's side? What if they are trying to see them in a different light? What if the dark wizards, or their families have seen the error of their ways and are trying to reach for help? What are you going to do, accuse us all of conspiracy against your reign and of trying to start a new dark world?"

 

"Nonsense, Arthur!" Kingsley raised a dark eyebrow. "If any dark wizards wish to come forward and change their ways, then they will be allowed to do so. If they continue to hide, like rats, then they will be caught and punished for their actions."

 

"And how will you go about punishing them?" Arthur asked. "Will your actions be governed by mercy or by prejudice?"

 

Kingsley rose out of his chair and leaned forward so that, for a moment, Arthur almost feared the minister would reach across the desk and strike him.

 

Arthur held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I spoke in haste. Please, let's not be upset.” Arthur gestured toward the chair. "After all, we are friends merely having a conversation with one another.”

 

Several seconds of silence followed as both men eyed one another across the desk. Arthur scooted his chair closer to the desk. I do have a question for you, Kinglsey."

 

"Yes?" 

 

"Former Death Eaters and their families seem to be dying at an unusual rate, and in unexpected ways. Some people speculate that it can’t be coincidence. What do you have to say about that?"

 

"What's this, Arthur? Are you taking a page from Rita Skeeter's journal?"  
Kingsley said smiling and raising an eyebrow.

 

"I'm not joking, Kingsley. I want your answer," Arthur grimly responded. "It is not something that would be looked upon in a positive manner if it were known that a certain regime handled matters in this way."

 

"I can only tell you that it has not come from me. Be assured that I do have investigators that are looking into the matter. Once I know something, then we will proceed with it, but until then I can only wait and see." 

 

“And in the mean time, people continue to die,” Arthur said softly.

 

"People are always dying, Arthur.” For a moment, Kingsley's expression darkened and his shoulders slumped. He stood, quickly regaining his composure and resuming his usual polite smile. "I must be going," Kingsley said as he got up from the chair. "You have two hours to clear your family from any involvement with the Malfoys, if you and your family are involved with them. However, I think we both know the answer to that, don't we?

 

Kingsley sighed deeply. "Arthur, please believe me. It was the least that I could do for a friend in delaying the investigative team from searching your home first. Do what you have to do; otherwise the penalties will be severe against you and your family."

 

Arthur sat there and blankly watched as Kingsley opened the door and left the office. He quickly jumped out of his chair and fastened the traveling cloak around his neck. He knew exactly what he had to do.

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Kingsley briskly walked back to his office, ignoring many of the greetings from the witches and wizards in the corridors and the lift. His thoughts were clearly focused on how Arthur Weasley and his family could have become involved with the Malfoys. 

 

"Potter," he grumbled to himself as he sat down behind his desk. "Of all of the people who I was trying to avoid, you were at the top of the list. You have been through enough hardship in your young life to rival that of any aged wizard." He shuffled a stack of papers on his desk while still speaking out loud to himself. "I just don't understand the connection between you, the Malfoys, and the Weasleys. Why are you involved at all, Potter?"

Kingsley tossed the papers down and reached into the drawer for his bottle of firewhiskey. He turned the bottle up and drank heavily from it. 

 

"They say that the first thing in a man that dissolves in alcohol is his dignity," a voice came from the room.

 

Shacklebolt slammed the bottle down onto the desk, causing it to shatter in his large hand. "For a man who speaks of dignity, you’re the kettle calling the pot black," Kingsley growled. "Enough of your fun and games, Moreaux, show yourself."

 

"Isn't it perplexing to have to lie to those whom you call your best friends, all for your greater good? How do you enjoy dealing with the devil, Minister?" Phillipe gracefully unwrapped the invisibility cloak from around his body, tossing it casually to the floor and allowing his dark curls to fall to his shoulders. "I will have that drink now, if you don't mind."

 

Without taking his gaze from the man standing in his office, Kingsley reached into the drawer and brought out a fresh bottle of firewhiskey. He tossed the bottle across the room to Phillipe who uncorked it with his bare teeth. 

 

"For a supposed dead man, you sure do get around," Kingsley grumbled. "I thought I made it explicit that you were never to meet with me here in my office."

 

Phillipe shrugged. "It's as good as any place.”

 

"Do you realize what would happen if someone saw you inside the Minstry?"

 

Phillipe shrugged again as he drank more of the firewhiskey. "That's not my problem is it now, Minister?"

 

"No, it's mine!" Kingsley growled. "So why are you here?"

Phillipe sat down in the chair in front of Kingsley's desk. He swiped the nameplate from the desk and scoffed at the craftsmanship. "Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt." He returned the nameplate and propped his dirty boots onto the edge of the desk while leaning the chair back on two legs. 

 

"You look worse for wear, Phillipe. What happened-- finally lost a duel?" Kingsley said as he sat back in his chair and forced himself to study Phillipe's features. He noticed many more cuts and bruises on the man's face, along with several fresh blood stains on his ragged robes. 

 

Phillipe gave a bark-like laugh that reminded Kingsley of Sirius Black. "It's really, bloody funny that you mention that. I was out doing my job that you wanted me to do. You remember our little arrangement about You-Know-Who at You-Know-When? Seems that I am at Malfoy Manor doing what I am supposed to be doing, being old pals with Lucius and all, when you decide to send a little hit team out to find me." 

 

"A hit team?" Kingsley laughed. "If I were to send such a team, it would not be composed of children. No, you have yourself to blame for their actions."

 

"Not bloody likely, Minister! I don't appreciate being set up like that."

 

Kingsley scoffed. "Well what are you complaining about? You're still alive. I would have thought that you would be proud, seeing as you accomplished something that Voldemort never could."

 

Phillipe spat on the floor. "Bloody Voldemort! I had the little reds beaten, even with their help from that brown haired witch, and from Narcissa. It took four of them to slow me down!" 

 

"I know. I saw your handiwork when I visited Malfoy Manor earlier. A room completely destroyed. And speaking of destroying, you are doing that to my credibility. What were you doing in London killing Muggles? I've had a hell of a time apologizing to the Muggle Prime Minister and cleaning up your mess. You are only to kill those wizards or witches that you are assigned to."

Phillipe raised a dark haired eyebrow. "They got in my way of completing the job."

 

"What job?" Kingsley shouted as he slowly rose from his chair. "You work for me. You still have your assignment, and you will carry it out professionally."

 

"And now you have given me the perfect opportunity to do so, by detaining Lucius. I'm as eager to finish this as you are. I have more important matters to attend to."

 

"I don't know who else you are working for, but it ends right now!" Kingsley drew his wand and pointed it across the desk at Phillipe's chest.

 

Phillipe ignored Kingsley and turned the bottle of firewhiskey up.

 

"I found you once, and brought you in. I can always do it again. Do not cross my path, Moreaux."

 

Phillipe eased the chair down onto all four legs, and tossed the empty bottle to Kingsley. "Alright, I will finish our little agreement and help to get rid of one final migraine for you. Lucius will die, as you order. I give you this warning. You had better make sure that Potter and his little friends do not cross my path again. They are still alive because I allowed it." Phillipe fastened the cloak around his neck. "Thanks for the drink, Minister. I am off to touch up the preparations for Lucius' final departure. My own little advice to you, when our contract is over with, know that I'm up for the highest bidder. Pray that they don't have a price on your head."

 

“Are you so eager to return to prison?” Kingsley asked. “Think carefully about the contracts you choose or you may be writing your own ticket to Nurmenguard.” 

 

Phillipe smiled, showing his yellow, rotting teeth. "I think not, Minister."   
He spun out of sight leaving Kingsley to his thoughts. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Molly Weasley stood next to the large, white kitchen sink carefully scrubbing the brown potatoes that were to be eaten for dinner later that evening. She hummed a little tune as she worked, using her fingernails to scrape the dirt out of each dimple. Each freshly scrubbed tuber was a small triumph, and she grinned at the thought of not having to serve dinner to Narcissa Malfoy. It was not that Narcissa had been a poor guest, exactly. She had mouthed appropriate pleasantries, eaten what was put before her, and complained much less than her son, but every so often the woman's cold smile would slip, and Molly could see the disdain Narcissa had for her humble surroundings. Narcissa's presence had made Molly feel like a child again, as if she were riding her mother's hand-me-down broom and hoping no one would notice her sagging stockings or her worn robes. 

 

Now, Narcissa was safely lodged with her sister, and before long, Arthur's mysterious helper would take Draco, too. Harry would go with him, which saddened Molly, but at least Ginny would stop sulking, and Molly and Arthur would no longer have to keep their wands ready in anticipation of Draco's next temper tantrum. Home would be home again, with no living reminders of the moment she most wanted to forget.  
She stopped her scrubbing for a moment as her mind flashed back to the moment where she had uttered the words that would kill Bellatrix Lestrange. Molly could not help but feel emotional as she remembered her exact feelings in those precious moments, and the sight of the green curse penetrating her opponent. For a brief second she remembered thinking that the curse had not worked as Bellatrix had begun to laugh in disbelief. She had been forced to do it, even though killing went against the fiber of her being. Still, having the woman's sister and nephew in her home had intensified the guilt. She wondered if they knew the truth and had wrestled with herself about whether or not to ask. Finally, she had decided to let the past lie undisturbed.

 

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Molly Weasley shook her head and began to wash the other potatoes that lay in the sink. "Funny, isn't it all? How life can lead you one way and then turn everything upside down." She glanced over her shoulder at Harry who sat at the table, looking lost in his own thoughts as he rolled a potato back and forth with his hand. 

 

The kitchen fireplace roared to life as Arthur Weasley leaped out and into the small kitchen, like a nimble cat. 

 

"Mr. Weasley!" Harry said. The potato rolled to the floor, forgotten.

 

"Arthur?" Molly turned from the sink and searched Arthur's face, noting his expression of near-panic

 

"No time to explain, Molly!" He placed both of his sooty hands on Harry's shoulders. "Where is Draco, Harry?"

 

Harry craned his neck toward the staircase. "He's upstairs. Why? What's the matter?"

 

"No time for questions, Harry! Just get Draco and gather your things together, quickly!" Harry hurried upstairs, and then Arthur and Molly heard the bedroom door shut. They listened as muffled voices came from above along with the sound of hurried footsteps.

 

"Arthur, please tell me what is going on?" Molly asked as she laid her hand upon his arm. Arthur turned and cupped her hand with both of his. 

 

"Sit down, Molly. Things may be worse than I originally feared." They sat down at the kitchen table, Arthur still holding his wife's hand. 

 

"I fear that we may not be able to completely trust Kingsley, dear."

 

"Arthur, no…" Molly exclaimed as she clutched her free hand to her bosom.

 

Arthur silently shook his head and continued. "He stopped by my office today. I knew that it was going to happen. It was simply a matter of when. What I didn't expect were some of the answers and the overall feel that I got from him."

 

"Arthur you don't mean to say--" 

 

"That Kingsley is starting to be like You-Know-Who, or Fudge, or Scrimgeour? No. I understand that he has his duties being Minister and all, but I don't agree with his methods."

 

Arthur paused as he raised Molly's hand to his lips and lightly kissed it before continuing. "I fear, dear, that by trying to help those who need help, that we might have placed ourselves in harm's way."

 

"What do you mean, Arthur?" Molly questioned. "Surely Kingsley will not do anything to us. He is part of the Order!"

 

Arthur again shook his head and frowned. "No, Molly. I knew that when I saw the memos that were beginning to form, once Kingsley took control, that he was going to begin changing everything, for what he calls 'the greater good'. Death Eaters and their families are the prime targets along with people and families that were associated with You-Know-Who." He sighed deeply before going on. "Now, it appears that paranoia is taking hold, and they are investigating people or families that have any connection at all with a Death Eater."

 

Molly gasped loudly as a look of shock spread across her face. "Arthur! Do you mean to say that they suspect us of…?"

 

Arthur nodded grimly. "Which is why Harry and Draco must leave immediately. Kingsley did give me notice that the investigation members will be here very shortly. He delayed them just long enough for me to come home and take care of things. If Draco is found under our roof, the penalty would be…well he didn't say, but I can fathom that it would be most severe."

 

"What about your arrangement for Harry and Draco?"

 

"Before I left the Ministry I sent an urgent owl to him, asking him to come to the Burrow immediately. He should be here soon."

 

"I still cannot believe that Kingsley would do such a thing! What about what Harry and Draco told us about London and about what happened at Malfoy Manor?"

 

"Kingsley is aware that Ron and Ginny went with Hermione, Harry, and Draco to Malfoy Manor. Somehow they were seen entering the grounds there. All I can think of is there is a spy or someone is watching the Malfoy's place every day to see if anyone goes there. That's how he knew that I had went there."

 

"How could Kingsley do something like that?"

 

"He's desperate, afraid of being weak, afraid of seeing the world plunged into a third war. It's too early to draw conclusions about what he will or won't do, but I fear...” Arthur waved a hand and flashed a false, reassuring smile. “No matter. Draco will be safe as Harry will be with him. I can continue to observe the ministry.”

 

The heavy sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted Arthur's speech. Molly wondered what he had planned to say, but finding out would have to wait.

 

"What's going on here? Tired of my being here in your little house already?" Draco sneered as Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

 

"Shut up, Draco! This is serious."

 

Arthur got up from the table and walked over to both young wizards. He placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder and lightly upon Draco's, as the latter dipped his shoulder down to avoid Arthur's touch. Harry noticed Draco squirming and shot him another angry look.

 

"You are ridiculous sometimes! You know that?" Harry said as he swung his knapsack into Draco's shoulders.

 

"Potter!" Draco growled.

 

Arthur raised a hand in a gesture for silence. "I don't have much time to explain, both of you. The situation is this. Due to the Ministry looking for you, Draco, and for your mother, it is best that you not stay in one place too long; at least until the trial. Hopefully, once that is over with, both your names will be cleared and things can become more stable."

 

Draco scoffed as he muttered, "Stable."

 

Arthur sighed and continued. "As I speak, there are Ministry officials on their way here. Should they find you here, they would take you away and we would be charged with aiding and abetting Death Eaters. I will not allow that to happen to you, or to my family. I have taken the liberty of calling upon someone that I do trust to keep you out of sight until the trial."

 

"Who is that, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked.

 

"Probably some--" Draco started before stopping in mid-sentence.

 

A solid knock came from the front door. Arthur stepped over to the window. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the glass and tilting his head for a better look at whoever stood on the front stoop.

 

Turning back toward Harry, Draco, and Molly, Arthur exhaled. "He's here."


	27. Tangled Branches

Chapter 27: Tangled Branches

 

“You!” Draco wrinkled his nose as the visitor stepped across the threshold, wearing the same stupid, floppy hat he had sported the last time they had met. As before, he was dressed like a Muggle and seemed to be entirely unashamed of it. His eyes looked bloodshot, as if he had been drinking.

 

Ignoring Draco, the visitor spoke in his strange accent, not mispronouncing anything, exactly, but drawing out the vowel sounds so that his speech sounded off somehow. “Arthur. It’s been a while. And Molly, it’s good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

 

"Janus," Molly said as she crossed the room and kissed the man on his cheek. "It's been far too long. Arthur and I owe you our thanks for this." 

 

Janus waved a hand and shook his head. “Any friend of Remus… Besides, these boys won’t be any trouble.” Janus turned to face Harry and Draco. “We meet again, as I said we would, although I didn’t intend for it to be like this.”

 

Arthur and Molly exchanged a look of surprise. “You’ve already met?” Arthur asked.

 

Janus nodded. "It was at Remus and Tonks’ grave." 

 

"Well!" Arthur said as he raised his hands into the air. "This makes it much easier then.”

 

"Exactly right, Arthur," Janus said, eying Draco. He stepped forward, and Draco brushed his hand across the handle of his wand in warning. 

 

Janus stopped and smiled as Harry placed his hand over Draco's. "Once again, Harry, you spare my hide from being cursed. To answer your question, Draco, yes…it is me."

 

Draco snorted, slapped Harry's hand off his, and folded his arms across his chest. "I think I'd rather take my chances with the Ministry."

 

Janus shrugged. "Fine with me, but you might want to think about the consequences for others instead of thinking about yourself so damn much. If the Aurors find you here, your friends Arthur and Molly are in just as much trouble as you."

 

“They’re not---" Draco began. He glanced from Molly to Arthur and changed his mind about what he had been about to say, “--doing anything wrong!” he finished lamely.

 

“And yet our friend Kingsley is ready to sign their arrest warrant the second a certain tow headed brat is found in their house.” Janus glanced over his shoulder at Molly and Arthur. “I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

 

“And how do you know that?” Draco demanded. He doubted someone like Janus could get anywhere near the Ministry, let alone be told its secrets.

 

"I have ways of finding out information," Janus said as a cold edge crept into his voice. "However, now is not the time for this. You and Harry must come with me."

 

"Draco, stop making a fool of yourself. We don't have time!" Harry said as he tossed the knapsack over his shoulder. "Now come on, we have to go!"

 

"Oh alright, Potter. If my company will make you happy!" Draco snapped.

 

"You two can argue like old maids on the way there, I don't care," Janus said. He looked at Arthur and Molly. "Can we leave through the kitchen door? If time is as short as I figure, the Ministry team should be here within the next few minutes."

 

"Certainly," Arthur replied. "Is there anything else that Molly and I can do?"

 

Janus stopped at the kitchen door and glanced back over his shoulder. "No. You've both done more than enough. Now it's time for you and your family to be safe. I'll handle these two from here until the trial."

 

Janus led Harry and Draco past the Weasley garden and down toward the pond at the bottom of the hill. A high-pitched cry came from above, and Draco looked up to see Orion circling down. He extended his arm for the eagle, who landed gracefully and proceeded to preen himself.

 

“Stay here,” Draco told the bird. “I don't know where I'm going, or when I'll be back for you, so just hunt rats or gnomes or something. If there's a storm, Arthur and Molly will let you in, but don't bite them. Or Ron, I suppose. Ginny... just steer clear of that one.” Orion made a soft, low keening sound before taking off, sending a breeze past Draco's face with the powerful strokes of his wings.

 

"See that?" Janus said as he pointed toward a long, shiny, metallic object lying on the ground. "That's our way out of here. It's my own personal portkey."

 

"What is it?" Draco asked as he examined the shiny stick. It had a rubber grip on one end and a metallic bulge on the other. "Titleist? What's that?"

 

"It's a golf club, Draco" Harry replied. "It's a club that Muggles use to play this sport of theirs."

 

"Exactly right, Harry," Janus said. "It's also good for teeing off on someone, especially if he has a certain attitude." He smirked at Draco. "But don't worry, I won't ruin a perfectly good driver on you."

 

"I'd like to see him try it," Draco whispered under his breath. 

 

"Alright now, Harry, you take the middle, and Malfoy, you take the other end. Hold on tight," Janus ordered, and the three of them spun out of sight.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Harry could feel the force of the spinning around his waist as the three hurled with the portkey toward their unknown destination. He clutched the golf club, and strained his neck to see Draco barely hanging on to the other end. Fear danced in Draco's eyes as Harry stretched out and took hold of his arm with all of the strength that he could muster. He strained to hold onto Draco and could feel his own grip beginning to slip when a firm hand took hold of his arm. Harry glanced up against the strong pressure blowing against his eyes and saw Janus holding his arm and smiling.

 

"Don't worry!" Janus yelled over the howling wind. "Not much further now! Both of you brace yourself for impact!"

 

Harry tilted his neck down and could see the spinning green and brown mass hurling toward his feet. Seconds later, the spinning slowed as the three landed on the ground, Harry and Draco collapsing to their knees while Janus gently touched down in perfect form.

 

Janus helped Harry to his feet, and reached for Draco's hand only to have his assistance swatted away.

 

"I know how to get up from the ground. I don't need your help!" Draco pulled himself to his feet and brushed away the dirt from his clothes. "Where are we, anyway?"

 

“About four miles from home.” Janus pointed north. 

 

“So you're no better at setting a portkey than Harry is at apparating.” Draco snorted. “What are we supposed to do, walk the rest of the way?” 

 

“Walk, crawl, do cartwheels-- whatever floats your boat. Need me to carry your pack?” Janus held out a hand, but Draco shook his head and settled the straps more comfortably on his shoulders. 

 

“It's to throw off anyone who might be tracking us by magic, isn't it?” Harry asked. 

 

“That and the fresh air.” Janus took off in the direction he had pointed, setting a pace that left Harry short of breath.

 

“So,” Draco said, panting slightly. “I thought you were American. What are you doing over here?” 

 

Before Harry could elbow Draco for his rude question, Janus glanced back over his shoulder. “I'm from the States, but I pretty much grew up here, in these woods.” He raised his hands in an expansive gesture. 

 

“That makes no sense,” Draco said. 

 

“Stop prying!” Harry growled. This time, he did elbow Draco, landing a sharp blow just below his rib cage. 

 

“No, it's alright.” Janus stopped abruptly and spun to face them. “You've been handed over to me, and you don't know me from Adam. I know how that feels.” 

 

“Who's Adam?” Draco asked. 

 

“A figure of speech.” Janus waved a hand. “It's not important. Let me just get this out of the way. When I was a kid, seven years old, to be exact, my parents took me to Britain on vacation. There was... an accident. I survived. They didn't.”

 

“I'm sorry--” Harry began.

 

Janus turned and began walking again. After a long silence, he continued his story while still maintaining the same grueling pace. “I woke up in Saint Mungo's surrounded by people in long robes and crazy hats. I didn't think any of it could be real, and then this old man with a white beard and half-moon glasses comes to see me. He tells me about my parents, and when I'm done bawling, he says I'm 'special' and there's a school where I can learn about my 'gifts,' but I have to wait a while, and in the mean time, there's a man who can take care of me.” 

 

“It was Dumbledore,” Harry murmured. “With the glasses and the beard.” 

 

“Just like him to let anyone into Hogwarts,” Draco added. “Who was it who took care of you?” 

 

“Remus Lupin,” Janus said with quiet reverence. “He became my father.”

 

They continued in silence. The sun began to set behind the trees, and Janus pressed on without slowing, as if the darkness didn't bother him. After Draco took a branch to the face and cursed about the possibility of losing an eye, Janus reached into the pocket of his duster and pulled out a small flashlight, which he handed to Harry. After what Harry guessed to be another hour of hiking, they reached a neat little house with its porch light shining.

 

"Janus?" Harry called out as they walked past a dark red colored Muggle car that sat in the driveway of the house. "Is this yours?" His fingers lightly traced over the gleaming metallic paint. “It’s beautiful! Dudley always wanted a car like this. It’s what he talked about all of the time, but Uncle Vernon always said they were too expensive.” He moved around to the front of the car and noticed the white stripes that extended from the lights over the bonnet of the car. “It looks brand new.”

 

Janus turned around as he reached the door to the house. "You like my little toy, do you? Not many wizards, other than Arthur, can say they own a Muggle car. I do use it occasionally, and it is a helpful deterrent against unexpected house guests."

 

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harry murmured to himself.

 

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just another ridiculous looking Muggle contraption!” Draco said as he walked past Harry, not bothering to give the vehicle a second look. 

 

“He never will understand, will he Harry?” Janus asked looking over Draco at Harry. 

 

“No, I guess he never will,” Harry replied, still unable to take his gaze away from the winged logo. 

 

They entered the small house and walked through a narrow corridor that opened into a living room. Wooden paneling covered the walls, and the polished hardwood floors gleamed under the electric lights. Framed photographs, some moving, some not, lined the walls. A large clock sat against the opposite wall as it ticked away each second of the hour. A mahogany colored sofa sat against another wall along with an end table. Placed upon the end table was an antique white colored lamp that had floral designs etched onto it. A small glass table with black trim sat in front of the sofa. Across from the sofa and table, covering the opposite wall of the room, was a large cabinet that housed both books and a small television set. 

 

"Have a look around." Janus extended his arms outward. "Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable, since you'll be staying a while."

 

Harry studied the pictures along the wall, while Draco walked over to the books. 

 

"These pictures. It's you in them?" Harry asked. 

 

"Yes, Harry. Me and Remus," Janus replied as he pointed a finger at the photo the showed a much younger Remus Lupin.

 

Draco moved past the books and stared at a picture that did not move. He tilted his head to both sides, as if waiting on the picture to do something. "This stupid picture is broken. It doesn't do anything!"

 

Janus smiled as he walked across the room and stood to the side of Draco. "That picture is not supposed to do anything."

 

"Manchester United?" Draco asked as he read the words at the bottom of the picture. "What's that?"

 

"You really don't know much about the Muggle world do you?" Janus said as he smiled at the picture. "Manchester United, Man U, one of the best football teams in Britain, and also my favorite." Janus noted the confusion on Draco's face. "This is Old Trafford, it's their stadium." Janus sighed as he tossed his hands into the air and let them hit the side of his legs. "Harry? A bit of help here, please. You know a bit about Muggle life and all. Make him understand it all." 

 

"Manchester United," Harry began, "is a Muggle football team. In a way, it's the Muggles’ version of Quidditch, but without broomsticks, bludgers, a snitch, or any hoops."

 

"But why--?" Draco began before Harry placed his hand in front of his lips. 

 

"Don't ask me to explain it all, Draco, it's a Muggle thing."

 

“But you're a wizard.” Draco frowned at Janus in genuine confusion. “Why do you want to be reminded of the fact that you're a mu-- a Muggle-born?”

 

“Why would I want to forget? It's my heritage, a part of who I am. Besides, we don't use that term-- or the one you were about to use-- in the States. Things are a bit less compartmentalized there. Oh, we don't announce ourselves as wizards, but we don't share your ivory tower elitism, either. All men created equal, et cetera, et cetera.” 

 

Draco scoffed. “It's not elitism, it's the natural order!” 

 

“Ah-- the natural order, the rallying cry of bigots and tyrants since time immemorial, and probably what my ancestors said when they burned your ancestors for witchcraft.” Janus grinned at Draco's scowl. 

 

“Do you have anything to drink?” Harry interrupted. “It was a long walk.”

 

“Of course! Where are my manners?” Janus disappeared around a corner and called in a loud voice, “I hope you both drink coffee. I never could get used to drinking hot tea.” 

 

“What? Never could…he's mental," Draco repeated in a low voice. “It's bad enough that he's proud to be a descendent from wizard-killing barbarians, but who doesn't drink hot tea?” 

 

“You're picking fights and looking for reasons not to like him,” Harry accused. “Stop it.”

 

Draco muttered something that Harry didn't hear. He was too busy studying the pictures of Remus and Janus grinning as they held up a caught fish or posing in front of the cabin. Harry felt a surge of envy-fueled resentment and quashed it by reminding himself that Janus had lost his real parents just as he had. 

 

“There are lots of memories in this house. It's why I kept it.” Janus' voice came from behind Harry, and when Harry turned around, Janus held out a tray with three steaming mugs. 

 

Harry took one of the mugs and nodded his thanks before pointing to a picture of Remus helping a young Janus onto a broomstick. “He looks so happy. It's just strange that he never said anything...” 

 

"About me?" Janus handed a mug to Draco before continuing. "Did you ever ask?"

 

"Er, no." Harry looked down at the floor. He had hung on Lupin's every word as he talked about James and Lily, but he had never asked about Remus himself.

 

"So he kept a Muggle son a secret." Draco shrugged and looked pointedly at Janus. "Can't say I blame him. Being a werewolf is embarrassing enough. The better question is where you were during the war. Were you watching a football match while Lupin was losing a duel?"

 

Janus dropped his cup onto the floor, shattering it. "For your sake, Draco, I had better not hear you talk about my father that way again. Not unless you want a scar on that pretty face."

 

"Draco, apologize!" Harry hissed.

 

"Don't try to defend him, Harry. If Draco wants to say something then he can go right ahead, but I warn you now, Malfoy, be wary of the words you choose!" 

 

Harry glanced from Draco to Janus. The former seemed coiled and about to strike, while the latter had the stiff, hunched posture of a dog with its hackles up. Janus’ hazel eyes had turned a dull black, as if the life within them had momentarily disappeared and was replaced by some unknown entity.

 

"Draco, just apologize and be done with it," Harry said as he reached over and turned Draco's chin with his own index and middle finger. He saw the fire once again burning in the pale blue eyes. 

 

Draco shook free from Harry's fingers. "Alright, fine then! Just keep your fingers off of my face, Potter!" Draco snapped his attention back to Janus, whose features had calmed as the color began to flow back into his skin. "I am sorry. I know that you are trying to help us, and I apologize."

 

“Accepted.” Janus looked down at the shattered mug, his eyes glazing over. “And it's a fair question. Hell, it's the same question I ask myself! When things got bad with Voldemort the first time, Remus pulled me out of Hogwarts and sent me back to my grandparents in the States. I built a life there. 

 

“He never told me how bad things were in the second war. We had our own troubles over there, dark wizards trying to expand their territory. Remus never said he needed me. Every time I asked, he said I was doing enough where I was. He promised me he wasn't in danger. And I believed him.” He turned his back on Draco and Harry and strode into the kitchen area.

 

"I hope you'll watch your mouth from now on, Draco!" Harry spat, slapping Draco's shoulder. "Whatever you do, you will not say anything like that about Lupin. I can take your little insults, but you will not do it in front of his son. You should show Janus the respect that you show Teddy. Both of them are his sons, regardless of how it came to be."

 

“That’s different! Teddy’s a Black as much as he is a werewolf, and he’s my--" he frowned in concentration. “Cousin? Nephew? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. He’s family.”

 

“And Janus is his brother,” Harry said, managing to keep his face expressionless. “That makes him your--"

 

“Don’t say it! Don’t you dare! Alright, fine! Just to keep you from being a complete git, I'll watch what I say." Draco lowered his voice. "But no matter what you say, I still don't trust him. Something still doesn't quite add up about him."

 

Janus re-entered the room, towel in hand, and wiped up the spilled coffee and picked up the broken shards of the cup.

 

"You know I could have repaired that for you?" Draco said.

 

Janus glanced up as he sponged up the last bit of coffee. "Thanks, but in this house I ask that no one performs any magic." 

 

"What?" Harry and Draco both asked together.

 

"That's rule number one here. No magic. The last thing that we need is to draw unwanted attention. If I know the Ministry, they will be questioning everyone you know. That's why I did not mention to Arthur or Molly where I lived. Just in case other methods of questioning are used."

 

"Veritaserum?" Harry quickly asked.

 

"To name one way, yes, Veritaserum. But there are other, more crude ways of finding out information," Janus finished as he wrapped the broken fragments into the towel, and walked out of the room.

 

"Rule number two," he continued from around the corner, "do not walk down to the village unless I am with you. When we go, we blend in. I'm a Muggle, and you're my visiting cousins."

 

"Why should we act like Muggles?" Draco asked. "Surely you don't think Father would…"

 

"I don't put it past anyone to have eyes in any village or city. No, I don't think it would be Lucius, but the Ministry has many contacts, as did Voldemort. With your picture posted in the Daily Prophet it'll be easy to find you among a crowd. That’s why the two of you will dress and act like Muggles. 

 

“Third, I don't want the two of you to think of this as a prison. You can go outside. I have set up barriers that will allow you to go so far into the woods that surround the house. There is also television that you can watch. I mainly use it to keep track of any unusual Muggle news. That’s how I know what’s going on in the world. That, and I have reliable contacts that are within the Ministry."

 

"Spying on the Ministry?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's a dangerous hobby."

 

"I don’t call it spying. It's not like I had someone bullying other Ministry officials to get my way. Does that sound familiar, Draco? Lucius was very good at that." 

 

The color quickly drained from Draco's face, as Janus continued before he could speak.

 

"I see it more like keeping abreast of things that happen within the Ministry." Janus sighed as he looked at the clock. "It's late. I do have a few questions to ask you, but they can wait until morning. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

 

"Room?" Harry asked. 

 

"Yes, I'm sorry but I only have the one spare bedroom with a bed that the two of you will have to share. That is, unless either of you prefer to sleep on the floor," Janus smirked as he led them down a small hallway and into a room on the left. 

 

He flipped on a light switch that bathed the wooden walls with a soft glow. A single bed sat in the room while a wardrobe and trunk stood opposite the bed. 

 

"You can place your clothes and things in there," Janus said pointing toward the closet and trunk. "It was my old trunk when I attended Hogwarts. This bed is the one that I slept in, when I was younger. It should be big enough for the two of you. The bathroom is across the hall, and my bedroom is at the end."

 

Harry and Draco stood gazing at the bed. "Well, I'll leave you both to it then. Good night." He closed the door and left both wizards staring at the bed.

 

"There aren’t enough pillows!" Draco huffed. "How am I supposed to sleep next to you like that?"

 

"That's for you to figure out, Malfoy!" Harry sassed as he picked up his knapsack and walked across the hallway to shower.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

“Tergeo!” Draco cast the cleansing spell before perching on the edge of the bed. The room was clean, but the whole house had an odd smell, as if someone had been brewing potions. He looked over his shoulder, half-afraid that Janus would burst in to bite his head off for casting a spell, but the house remained quiet, save for the sound of water flowing through the pipes. 

 

The room's one tiny window was closed, and when Draco crossed the room to open it, he found it stuck. The air was hot and thick with humidity, and he felt a trickle of perspiration between his shoulder blades. Bad enough to have to share a bed with Potter, worse when the two of them would both be sweating like pigs. 

 

He passed the time unpacking both their knapsacks into the trunk, wrinkling his nose when he touched the stiff blue Muggle fabric of his jeans. He pulled the zipper up and down a few times, practicing for when Janus would want them all to look like one big, stupid Muggle family. Having to put the jeans on would be unpleasant as it was, and needing help from Harry again would be... He flushed and dropped the garment into the trunk. It would be horrible. 

 

The bedroom door creaked open, and Draco spun to see Harry with a towel around his shoulders, wearing only a pair of black undershorts. 

 

“Shower's yours,” Harry yawned, tossing the towel on the floor like a slob before falling onto the bed and rolling close to the wall. 

 

“What's the point of showering?” Draco asked. “It's like a bloody oven in here! Especially since we've got nothing to sleep in but our robes. Or our Muggle clothes. Take your pick.” 

 

Harry chuckled. “Do you really expect...” his grin faded as he studied Draco's face. “You're serious, aren't you?” He turned on his side, propping himself up on one elbow like some calendar pin up. 

 

“I'm not going to sleep in the same bed with you if that's all you're wearing!” Draco pointed to Harry rather than looking at him. The longer he looked, the harder it was to mount a coherent argument against either Harry's lack of clothing or their sharing a bed. 

 

Harry sighed and shook his head. “I thought after last night we were beyond this.” 

 

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Draco folded his arms across his chest, still refusing to look at Potter. 

 

“Yes, you do. Narcissa told me she had to pry you away from me. You were there, beside me, I remember it. Draco...” 

 

“Don't! I thought you were unconscious. Half-dead is more like it! And it wasn't so blasted hot, and you were wearing proper clothing.” 

 

“Fine. You win. I won't argue.” Harry shrugged and rolled over to face the wall. 

 

“Well?” Draco prompted, waiting for Harry to vacate the bed. 

 

“Well, you've got the floor or the couch. Take your pick.” Harry yawned ostentatiously and then put the pillow over his head and curled into a ball. 

 

“Whatever, Potter!” Draco snatched the other pillow from the bed and stormed into the living room, slamming the door behind him. Once again, he looked around in expectation of Janus and his black-eyed rage, but no one came to chastise him. 

 

A shaft of moonlight came from a front window, providing Draco with just enough light to make his way to the couch. He settled in with his pillow, removed his shoes, and lay on his back, staring up at nothing. The clock ticked, chimed the hour, and continued its incessant ticking. He kept seeing Harry in his mind's eye, and he half-wished he had taken a longer look at Potter's barely clothed body. If he had, his mind might not be racing in circles, imagining the exact contours of Harry's wiry thighs or trying to recreate the precise way Harry's body narrowed from shoulder to waist. 

 

It would have been so simple to take off his own robes and get into the bed with Harry. In the close confines, they would have been hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder, unable to avoid touching. Temptation would have been like the Imperius curse, driving Draco's actions, absolving him of all responsibility. 

 

Draco felt a rush of shame as he realized his hand had moved under his robes. He sat up briefly, making sure he was still alone. He was, and so he continued to touch himself, imagining that the friction came from grinding against Harry's body. He pulled his robes up and his undergarments down, giving himself more freedom. 

 

In his mind's eye, they were entwined in the tiny bed, even their undergarments cast off. He was on top of Harry, Harry's thighs squeezing against his hips, they were kissing-- No, Harry was bent over the bed, facing away from Draco and squirming underneath him, or he was on his knees, taking Draco into his mouth--

 

Bright light stabbed through Draco's eyelids, which flew open. He sat up, frantically pulling his robes back into place and stammering, too startled and humiliated to form a complete sentence. His face burned, and his eyes were glued to the floor, unable to look up and see who had interrupted him. 

 

“Just don't leave a mess, and get back in that bedroom when you're done. There are extra wards on that room.” Janus' matter-of-fact tone came from the entry way. 

 

Draco looked up to see the American standing in the doorway, his face expressionless. 

 

“How long were you there?” Draco demanded. 

 

“About two seconds. Which is two seconds longer than I wanted to be.” Janus' mouth twitched until he lost control and broke into a grin. 

 

“And what are you doing out at night?” Draco scowled. “Aren't you supposed to be protecting us?” 

 

“I was patrolling, looking for anything that might make trouble.” 

 

“Convenient.” Draco snorted, noting that Janus' eyes looked even more blood-shot than they had. “If any whores or bottles of firewhiskey come after us, I'm sure we'll be safe.” 

 

“Think you have me pegged, huh?” Janus laughed. “Whores and bottles of firewhiskey. I'll remember that in case anyone guesses what I'm really up to.” He winked and grinned, but for a moment a dark shadow seemed to pass over his eyes, and Draco shuddered. 

 

“If you think you can scare me, you're wrong,” Draco said coldly. “Whatever it is you were doing, whatever it is you are, I've seen worse. I've done worse. I am worse. And you'll find that out if you ever let anything happen to Potter.” 

 

“Whoa! Easy, tiger!” Janus raised his hands, palms outward. “We're on the same team here.” 

 

“So you say.” Draco watched Janus disappear into the kitchen. A moment later, a thought occurred to him and made him jump up from the couch and follow the man. “Ah, Janus...” Draco said softly. 

 

Janus set down the glass of water he had been drinking and tilted his head to the side, motioning for Draco to continue. 

 

“About when you came in, er...”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Janus said, waving a hand magnanimously. 

 

“Yeah, right. And you won't say anything to Potter, will you?” 

 

Janus pulled a chair from the kitchen table, turned it around, and straddled it like a stool. He leaned forward with his chin on the backrest, regarding Draco with an exaggerated thoughtful expression. “Now that depends. Can you keep your hands off your wand-- I mean that literally, by the way-- and your smart mouth shut? If I keep getting threatened and insulted, I might just let it slip that I walked in on Draco Malfoy and his one true love.” 

 

“That's blackmail,” Draco snarled. 

 

Janus shrugged. “I prefer the term 'leverage'.” 

 

“Fine!” Draco nodded, but swore under his breath and added, “You could have been a Slytherin.” 

 

“Who says I wasn't?” 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Narcissa woke from a light, anxious sleep, nightmares still flickering in her brain. She tasted phantom blood, smelled the scent of hard-packed earth, felt it under fingernails even though when she looked at her hands, they were white and clean. Remembering where she was, she rose quickly from the bed, not wanting to lay in it a moment longer than necessary. The room she slept in had belonged to Nymphadora, which meant that this very bed had probably been shared by a half-blood shapeshifter and a werewolf. Andromeda had promised that the sheets were clean, and Narcissa had cast both “Tergeo” and “Scourgify” before lying down, but even so... She shuddered as she slipped her feet into a pair of borrowed slippers and changed from the sleeping gown she wore into a set of her sister's robes. 

 

She followed the scent of fresh coffee into the kitchen, where Andromeda stood watch over a percolating pot, cradling Teddy and singing one of the nonsense rhymes they had both heard as children. 

 

“Did you sleep well?” Andromeda asked, glancing over her shoulder. 

 

“I-- yes,” Narcissa lied. Something on the wall had caught her attention. A set of narrow wooden shelves held a moving picture of Ted Tonks, a wedding portrait of Remus and Nymphadora, and framed newspaper clipping with a black-and-white photo of Draco. 

 

“Not the most flattering picture of him, is it? I didn't have a proper one,” Andromeda murmured, jerking her chin toward the photo. 

 

“Because I was a poor sister and kept you from your nephew? If you insist on reminding me of my failings, perhaps I would be better off in the hands of the Ministry,” Narcissa said bitterly. 

 

“I see where your son gets his disposition, but it's even less charming for a person of your age and gender.” Andromeda shook her head and moved into the kitchen where she pulled two sets of cups and saucers from a cabinet. “Must you make this so difficult?” With a wave of her wand, she summoned a silver pitcher of cream and poured a generous portion into each cup. Sugar cubes followed, and finally she poured in the strong black coffee. 

 

Narcissa bit her tongue to stifle a complaint about the adulteration of a perfectly good beverage. Forcing a smile, she took one of the cups. Still holding Teddy with one arm, Andromeda took her own cup, and Narcissa followed her to the back door, opening it before Andromeda could request that she do so. Outside on the patio were two wicker chairs and a matching wicker basket lined with blankets for Teddy. The early morning chill felt refreshing, and Narcissa savored the contrast between the hot mug in her hands and the cool breeze. Soon Teddy was nestled in the wicker bed and both women were perched on the chairs. 

 

“When you came to the Burrow, Draco knew you,” Narcissa said, keeping her voice even in fear of rousing Andromeda's temper yet again. 

 

Her sister nodded. “We had met before.” She took a long sip of coffee, eying Narcissa over the rim of her cup. 

 

Narcissa sighed, though it came out sounding like a groan. “So you want me to ask; then I will ask. How could you possibly know him? How could he treat you like--” 

 

“Family?” Andromeda arched an eyebrow. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Andromeda tilted her head to one side, biting her lip as if deciding how much longer to torment Narcissa. Finally, she broke into a grin and laughed. “We met when he came to visit Teddy. Harry brought him to my door! Can you imagine the surprise... I open the door and there stands Teddy's godfather in the company of... Well...” Andromeda cleared her throat, averted her eyes, and picked up her cup again. 

 

“Of course.” Narcissa flushed slightly, feeling foolish.

 

“You're not surprised,” Andromeda said flatly, looking confused and disappointed. “You don't find it odd that Harry felt the need to bring Draco here to meet his godson?” 

 

“Did you hope to shock me?” Narcissa chuckled humorlessly. “It is far too late for that; Draco told me his true feelings for the Potter boy, and even had he not, I saw--” She flinched, closing her eyes. 

 

“Yes?” Andromeda leaned forward, resting her right elbow on her knee and her chin on her fist. 

 

“I saw them in bed together!” Narcissa spat out the words, not wanting to drag out the moment. Andromeda raised an eyebrow and began to smirk, and Narcissa quickly waved a hand, flushing furiously and shaking her head. “No, not as you're thinking! You always did have a filthy mind! I saw Draco sleeping next to Harry after they rescued me from the Manor.” 

 

“Perhaps they were only--” Andromeda began.

 

Narcissa snorted. “Do not patronize me. And do not remind me that Potter is a half-blood or that your own mongrel daughter and her beastly husband at least gave you that--” She pointed to Teddy. She had been about to say “creature” but the word hitched in her throat as she eyed the infant's puffy cheeks and tiny body. When she regained her voice, she whispered, “that precious grandchild.” 

 

“Cissy...” Andromeda sighed, rose from her chair, and crouched next to Narcissa, placing a hand on her upper arm. 

 

“Draco will be like you,” Narcissa continued, sniffling. “Like you and Nymphadora and Ted and Remus! They'll whisper about him behind his back, call him horrible, horrible names. He will never be quite equal, never quite whole. He might as well have been born a half-blood or a Weasley!” 

 

“He might as well,” Andromeda agreed. 

 

“So much for sisterly comfort,” Narcissa muttered, feeling her temper rise. The momentary flare of anger caused the tears to recede, and she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, embarrassed.

 

“And what do you expect me to say, exactly?” Andromeda stood and turned sideways so that her profile was outlined against the backdrop of the sunrise. “I was as shocked when Harry dragged Draco across my doorstep, as you no doubt were when Draco told you the truth! I had thought you were lost to me, Cissy, and I had no reason to think that Draco was anything but a dark, twisted soul in his father's image. Imagine my astonishment at finding out that he is no different than my Nymphadora was, that he's capable of change, capable of love. Imagine how surprised I was, Narcissa. And how proud.” 

 

“I suppose,” Narcissa murmured. She glanced down from the pink-tinged sky to Teddy's basket-bed, where the little metamorphmagus was changing before her eyes. He sprouted a bristling shock of white hair that reminded her of a hedgehog's quills, and when his tiny eyes opened, they were dark violet. 

 

Andromeda followed her sister's eyes and smiled. “Would you like to hold him?” 

 

“You're sure he's not infected?” 

 

After rolling her eyes, Andromeda reached into the basket, lifted Teddy, and held him out to Narcissa. “Draco isn't afraid of him.” 

 

“No, he isn't.” Narcissa bravely nodded, set her coffee cup next to her chair, and held out her hands, proud that they weren't trembling. If Draco could overlook Teddy's parentage, surely she could, too. 

 

Instead of placing Teddy in Narcissa's hands, Andromeda put the infant on her sister's shoulder. He felt warm and limp, and Narcissa quickly put a hand on his back to steady him. His fingers began to explore her hair. Once he had a firm grip, he tugged hard, as Draco had so often done, and she found herself smiling as her eyes watered with the pain. “He is strong!” she observed, laughing. 

 

“Strong, healthy, and magically gifted, like his mother,” Andromeda agreed. 

 

“Draco's children would have been beautiful,” Narcissa sighed, absently stroking Teddy's hair, which changed in color and texture, reverting to the soft, blond curls she had come to think of as part of his “true” appearance. 

 

Andromeda shrugged. “That would have depended on the mother, wouldn't it?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “You do realize that I am not Teddy's appointed guardian, don't you? That would be Harry, which I suppose would make Draco his guardian, too, if the two of them stay together.”

 

“They will.” Narcissa closed her eyes, remembering that strange talk in the garden. There will never be anyone but Potter! She had never been more certain that her son told the truth. 

 

“Then if Draco is one of Teddy's guardians, I suppose that makes him your--” 

 

“Don't say it!” Narcissa laughed, and Teddy responded by making soft gurgling sounds in her ear. “It's strange enough to have a sister again! I don't want to dwell on the tangled branches of our family tree. Let's just--” 

 

A set of three sharp banging sounds made them both fall quiet. Andromeda took Teddy from Narcissa, set him down in his bed, and held up a hand in a gesture for continued silence. “I'll see who is at the door,” she whispered. She drew her wand, murmured a spell, and strode into the house, closing the door securely behind her. 

 

Narcissa craned her neck, simultaneously scanning for an attacker and assuring herself that the person knocking at the door was a friend, Molly Weasley, perhaps, or Hermione Granger, or even a traveling saleswizard hawking cleaning potions or enchanted cookware. Something in the lower part of her field of vision caught her eye, and she looked down to see the white wicker of the seat of her chair. Blinking on confusion, she raised her hand in front of her face only to find her view of the garden unobstructed. 

 

“A vanishing charm,” she muttered to herself. 

 

The door to the patio rattled, and she rose from her seat, moving to kneel behind Teddy's basket. If the unexpected visitor did turn out to be a foe, she could grab the child and run while Andromeda held off the attacker with her wand. She held her breath as the knob turned. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Draco awakened to the tuneless song of a bird outside the bedroom window. He groaned and rolled over, covering his ears with the pillow. The morning chirps seemed to echo in his head as he rolled back over.

 

"Too early…" Harry murmured as he continued to sleep through the noise. 

 

"Easy for you to say, Potter," Draco whispered as he tossed the pillow at the window, hoping to scare away the bird.

 

His tactic failed, and the bird shrilled even louder than before. Harry flailed in his sleep, his legs jerking as if he were trying to run lying down. Even when Draco scooted to the edge of the bed, Potter's limbs still brushed him while the bird continued it's diabolically cheerful serenade. Draco wondered which was worse-- remaining here or risking another encounter with Janus.

 

Choosing the lesser of the two evils, he rolled out of the uncomfortable bed, not caring if he awakened Harry or not. Draco marched across the hallway and into the bathroom before stepping into the living room and sitting down on the couch.

 

"At least in here, I won't be able to hear that bloody bird," Draco said to himself as he swung his feet up onto the cushions. He laid his head down, expecting the smooth, cool touch of leather, but instead his cheek came into contact with something soft and furry.

 

An ear-splitting screech was followed by several stabs of pain in his skull and then a protracted hiss punctuated with spitting sounds. Draco screamed as his hands reached for whatever it was that had just attacked his head. The thing darted off of the couch and leapt across the floor in two strides, settling onto one of the long bookcases and peering at Draco with its blue eyes. A long, low growl came from the animal as the living room lights quickly flickered on. 

 

Janus came running into the room, sporting a large blue shirt that had the word, "jayhawks" emblazoned with red tint on the front, along with his black shorts. "What's going on in here? What…oh it's you, Draco. You decided to wake up the house with your screaming, I see?"

 

"It wasn't me! It was that beast over there!" Draco shouted while he held his hands over his bleeding scalp. 

 

"Socrates! Have you been a bad kitty?" Janus said as if he were talking to a baby. "Did the mean old Slytherin scare you, boy?" 

 

The Siamese cat mewled as he jumped off the shelf and began to rub around Janus' feet, purring. "Where have you been all night, huh? Out chasing rats, or do you have a female companion that you've yet to tell me about?" He picked up the large cat and took him into the kitchen, motioning for Draco to follow. 

 

Draco walked into the kitchen, eying Socrates and swearing under his breath. Janus put the cat down, and it found its way to a full food dish under the kitchen counter. 

 

"Have a seat," Janus pointed at the small breakfast table. "I'll get the peroxide and gauze."

 

"What's that? You mean you aren't going to use magic?"

 

Janus stopped rummaging under the kitchen sink and looked back across his shoulder at Draco. "And why would I need to use magic on something as simple as a scratch?" 

 

"How do I know that you stupid feline doesn't have some sort of wild cat's disease?

 

Janus paused again in his search, glancing from Socrates back to Draco. "I think you'll live, Draco. Not stop being such a baby!" A few seconds later he stood back up with a large, white box and a clear, plastic bottle in his hands.

 

"Alright, let's see the damage here. Move your fingers." 

 

Draco lowered his hands and sat down in one of the chairs.

 

Janus clicked his tongue and shook his head as he bent to examine the wounds. "Sox got you real good. Does it hurt here?" He pressed his finger down onto the scratch, sending a wave of fresh pain through Draco's scalp. 

 

"What do you think?" Draco snapped.

 

"I'm only kidding. He barely broke the skin. Unfortunately, the scalp bleeds more easily than any other part of the body." Janus continued prodding at the tender skin. "You scared Socrates, that's all. Normally, he has a very sweet disposition." 

 

Janus took the clear plastic bottle and poured some of the liquid inside it onto one of the cloth pads. He raised the pad above Draco's head, and a moment later, Draco howled as if his hair were on fire.

 

“For the love of Merlin!” Draco shouted as he rose from the chair. “What did you do to me?”

 

“It prevents wild cat disease,” Janus quipped. “Now sit back down and quit being such a wuss.” 

 

“I'm not--” Draco snarled, flushing. He sat down and folded his arms. “Fine. It's not that bad. Just get it over with.” 

 

“That's the spirit.” Janus wet another cloth and continued to dab the fire-potion on Draco's head. “So what were you doing out of bed this early in the morning? Snooping around the living room, trying to find some dirt on me? I thought after our little conversation last night that you might want to try and have your own leverage over me. Is that about right, for a Slytherin?” 

 

“No!” Draco growled. “Now you're being paranoid. I couldn't care less about your dirty little secrets. I was getting away from a bird, that's all, and – aah!” Draco howled as Janus made a final hard swipe with the wet cloth. 

 

Harry rounded the corner and stopped abruptly at the sight before him. “What’s wrong? What are you doing to Draco?”

 

“Good morning, Harry,” Janus smiled as he forcefully padded the wet gauze pad onto the last scratch. “I’m tending to Draco’s little scrapes here. He and Socrates said ‘hello’ to one another this morning. I had to break out the peroxide to celebrate.” He pointed to the top of the large refrigerator where the large crème colored Siamese cat sat, watching the events from above. 

 

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Harry said as the large cat meowed toward Harry while rubbing the side of his face against the edge of the appliance. 

 

“Are you finished yet?” Draco shouted, dizzy from pain. 

 

“Yes, go on." Janus tossed the gauze into a trash can and turned to put the bottle away. 

 

Draco hastily got up, turning the chair over in the process, and stormed out of the kitchen. As he marched down the hall, he heard Janus mutter something about a "typical Slytherin." 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Andromeda put her hand on the back door knob and turned, jiggling it to give Narcissa warning. The vanishing spell should last at least an hour, but that assumed she had cast it correctly, and she was out of practice. As she opened the door, she turned back to smile over her shoulder. 

 

“It really is good to see you, Kingsley. We can talk out here. I was having coffee and taking Teddy out for some air.” She bit her lip to stop herself from prattling more. The minister followed her onto the patio and turned his head slowly, surveying the garden. 

 

“Teddy is a bit young for coffee,” Kingsley observed. 

 

“Yes, of course!” Andromeda laughed nervously. “The coffee was for me. I brought Teddy out here to watch him.” 

 

“Then who was your companion?” Kingsley pointed to the base of each wicker chair, and Andromeda's heart jumped as she noted the two coffee cups. 

 

“Ah, that's, er, embarrassing, really.” Her hand went to the front of her robes where she fiddled with her collar, thinking furiously. “It's habit, you see. One cup for me, one cup for Ted. Ted Tonks, my husband, not Ted Lupin, the baby. Oh, I'm not crazy! I know he's gone, it's just a little ritual of mine, a reminder.” 

 

“I see.” Kingsley looked unconvinced. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun and scanned the garden again. 

 

“Minister, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Andromeda asked.

 

“I don't need to remind you of the sacrifices made in order to achieve our current state of relative peace.”

 

“No,” she agreed. “I'm the last person who needs reminding.” Teddy began to cry in his bed, and she knelt down to pick him up before sitting down in her chair. She hoped that Narcissa had vacated the other, and she held her breath until Kingsley had settled himself without incident. 

 

“And I do not need to convince you of how important it is that we send a strong, united message, that we show the public there is no escape for those who aided Voldemort.” 

 

“I am at your service, Minister. As always.” 

 

Kingsley steepled his fingers and leaned forward so that his fingertips brushed his chin. “When was the last time you saw Narcissa Malfoy?” 

 

Andromeda winced, not bothering to hide her reaction. “The last time I saw Narcissa Black, I had just told our parents that I was marrying Ted Tonks. They asked me to choose, you know-- Ted or my family. You can guess the result. That's how it always works when one asks a woman to choose sides. 

 

“Well, Cissy thought I was selfish for choosing to corrupt myself and defile my family name. I thought she was brainless for being unable to see past our parents' prejudice. Words were exchanged. It's not a night I care to dwell on.” 

 

“And you have never seen her since?” Kingsley pressed. 

 

“I thought of sending an owl when Nymphadora was born, but...” she shook her head. “When Draco was born I thought surely, surely there would be word from Narcissa, but no.” 

 

“Then you never knew your nephew, Draco? You haven't seen him? He has not contacted you?”

 

Andromeda shifted Teddy into a comfortable position on her chest and looked over his head to meet Kingsley's eyes. “I saw his picture in the Daily Prophet next to a story about a trial.” 

 

“And you kept it and framed it. I saw it in the kitchen as we walked past.” 

 

“So I'm a sentimental fool.” She shrugged. “I lost my daughter, my husband, my older sister, and for all intents and purposes my younger as well. Whatever else he is, Draco is family. And no, he's not here, I've not seen him nor spoken to him. If I may ask, why are you concerned over a brainless twit like Narcissa and a child like Draco, anyway?” 

 

“Allowing any suspect to escape trial is an invitation to our enemies, an announcement that we are weak.” Kingsley sighed in frustration. “Do you have any idea where your sister and nephew may be? A family property, a childhood hiding spot?” 

 

Involuntarily, Andromeda's eyes swept the garden. She shook her head. “Nothing like that.” 

 

“I see.” Kinglsey rose suddenly, his wand flying into his hand. Facing away from the house, he called, “Homenem Revelio!” He marched the length of the garden, looking behind every shrub. 

 

“How touching that I've earned your trust,” Andromeda murmured under her breath. 

 

“Trust is a luxury forbidden to ministers,” Kingsley replied. He turned in a slow circle before meeting her eyes. “Think carefully about where your loyalties lie, Andromeda.”

 

“I have, Kingsley.” She bit her lip to keep from saying more. The minister's words nearly echoed those her father had said all those years ago, but she was older and wiser now. Even though she felt the formidable Black temper rising in her, she forced a smile. “My loyalty is to my grandson. Now, unless you'd like to watch me change his diaper...” she raised an eyebrow. 

 

“No, thank you,” Kingsley returned her smile with a trace of his old sense of humor touching his eyes. “If you hear from Draco or Narcissa...” 

 

“You can trust me to do the right thing, Minister. Always.” 

 

“I hope so.” Kingsley opened the back door and made his way to the front, walking slowly and turning his head to look in every corner. 

 

Once he had gone, Andromeda latched the front door and rested her back against it, clutching Teddy to her chest and taking deep, slow breaths. All of the fear she had hidden from the minister hit her at once, making her head spin and turning her knees to jelly. When she had calmed herself enough to walk again, she made her way to the patio. 

 

A loud “thud” came from her left, and she spun to see Narcissa rising from a crouch. Before Andromeda could ask, Narcissa said, “I climbed the trellis.” 

 

“I wondered where you were hiding. If you were hiding!” Andromeda laughed. “When he cast Homenem Revelio, I half-expected to see you standing in the garden wringing your hands.” 

 

“Like a brainless twit?” 

 

“Cissy!” Andromeda groaned. “You could hardly expect me to speak well of you!”

 

“No. No, of course not.” Narcissa bit her lip and looked down, brushing dirt and bits of clematis petals from her robes. “Andromeda...” 

 

“Yes?” Andromeda prompted, wishing Narcissa would get on with whatever she wanted to say. Teddy was truly starting to fuss now, and in a moment, he would begin to wail. 

 

“If you had sent an owl after Nymphadora was born, I would have answered.” Narcissa stepped closer to Andromeda and reached out a hand toward Teddy, who wrapped his left hand around her index finger, his right fist still tangled in Andromeda’s hair.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Half an hour later, breakfast was placed on the table, consisting of sausage, eggs, and bacon; the mouth-watering aroma filled the small house. Harry looked up from his plate to see Draco slink silently into the kitchen and take a seat.

 

“Glad you decided to join us, Draco,” Janus said cheerfully. Draco did not bother to acknowledge Janus or even look at Harry. Instead, he chose to keep his gaze down, looking at the plate before him as they all ate. 

 

As Draco complained about his rubbery eggs and overcooked sausage, a russet-colored barn owl flew in through the open kitchen window and landed gracefully on the table, shedding a feather onto Janus' empty plate. 

 

"Well, hello!" Janus said sitting his coffee down and untying the rolled newspaper from the owl's leg. "And what new drivel does the Daily Prophet have today, old girl?" He lightly stroked the owl's feathers as she hooted. "Oh, sorry, you're a bit late for breakfast. I'm afraid you will have to go find a mouse." 

 

Harry stared at the owl with open admiration. "She gorgeous! What's her name?"

 

"Harry, I'd like for you to meet Artemis." The bird turned her cream colored face around and stared at Harry before flapping her wings and hooting. "Seems she likes you. That's rare for her to do that to a stranger."

 

"Can I touch her?" Harry asked, remembering how soft Hedwig's feathers had felt. 

 

"Sure, I think she'll let you," Janus answered as he unrolled the Daily Prophet.

 

Harry slowly reached toward the owl, careful not to make any sudden movements. His fingers lightly touched the feathers; the texture felt almost as smooth as silk. "She's so soft," Harry admired as he allowed his whole hand to lightly pet the owl. "Ron and Hermione bought me another owl, Ramses."

 

"Artemis and Ramses. Perhaps one day they should meet and see what happens between them." Janus winked.

 

"Yeah, maybe they can," Harry added, although he was so engrossed by the beauty of the bird that he didn't really hear himself speak. Artemis took flight and flew out the kitchen window, leaving Harry with a single feather.

 

Behind the Daily Prophet, Janus let out a low, dog-like growl. 

 

"What?" Draco asked, pushing his empty plate away.

 

Janus threw down the paper, and once again, dark flames flickered in his eyes. His next words came out in a low, husky rasp. "Desperation is the raw material of drastic change."

 

"Huh?" Harry and Draco both asked.

 

"Desperation." He sat more upright in the chair, his left hand lightly drumming on the back of the newspaper. He flipped the Daily Prophet over, allowing Harry and Draco to read the page. Two pairs of eyes read each line of the article, never blinking. Their mouths simultaneously drooped to form an "O" shape. Harry's hands begin to tremble with anger as he read each word, the article cutting deeply into the sensitive memory of the Daily Prophet lies regarding Dumbledore. 

 

Draco finished reading first and pushed the newspaper away from him, as if the article weren't about him. "It's rubbish!" Draco commented tilting his nose upward. "It's all lies, and Daily Prophet rubbish." He swatted his hand at the paper as if it were an irritating fly. "We all know the Prophet does things like that to garner attention."

 

Harry finished reading the article and looked over at Draco, his eyes wide with fear and many thoughts of what his life would be like if he lost Draco to Azkaban. "Draco, this is serious! This isn't some Rita Skeeter spew!"

 

"Twenty thousand galleons, fresh from Gringots, to anyone with any knowledge about Draco or Narcissa's whereabouts." Janus pointed a finger at Draco. "The Minister has just turned up the heat on you. How many people would gladly turn in a Malfoy for twenty thousand? That is too tempting of an offer for just about any witch or wizard. Desperate measures." Janus jabbed his finger on top of the moving picture of Draco.

 

"So I guess you'll turn me in so you can collect the money and buy more stupid Muggle junk?" Draco snorted as he ripped the newspaper from the table, thrashing it into the floor.

 

Janus did not move an inch, nor did he respond to Draco's theatrics. Calmly, he raised a finger to scratch his cheek. "As tempting as twenty thousand galleons is, I don't need it. My loyalty isn't to the Ministry. The important question now is why the Ministry is doing this."

 

"Right," Harry agreed. "We have to be rational about this."

 

"Easy for you to say, Potter. It's not you that could be sent to Azkaban. Besides, I am more worried about Mother."

 

"I am sure that Andromeda will take care of her, and keep her safe."

 

"Harry's right," Janus agreed. "Narcissa never took the dark mark. It's your neck I'm worried about, Draco. Now, just what have you done that makes you worth twenty thousand galleons?"

 

“I haven't done anything!” Draco snarled. “No one killed my father; he's still alive, and as for his minion, that was Ginny Weasley, not me!”

 

Janus tilted his head and then shook it in confusion. “Either I need another cup of coffee, or you're not making sense. Harry, care to fill me in?” 

 

“Sure.” Harry took a deep breath and started the story from the beginning, with Draco and his luggage case showing up at Harry's front door. When he got to the part where Draco's silver dragon knocked Lucius into the bookcase, Janus raised an eyebrow and grunted in admiration. 

 

"A Patronus, Draco. I am impressed," Janus said with mock applause.

 

"Shut up! Ridiculous American cou--" Draco stopped himself before completing the word. "What are you smirking about Potter, go on and finish your bloody story!"

 

Harry continued, and when he mentioned Phillipe Moreaux, the cup slipped out of Janus' hands, spilling coffee all over the polished wooden table top.

 

"Phillipe? Janus asked, ignoring the spilled coffee. "Phillipe Moreaux?" 

 

"Well, we didn't know his full name then, or exactly what he was. He only said that Lucius had wanted him to find Draco and me, and bring us back to Malfoy Manor. Draco surprised him, as his attention was on me, trying to choke me to death. Several stunning spells and a Patronus, again from Draco, allowed us to escape and apparate to the Burrow."

 

Janus placed his index finger over his top lip while his thumb gently rested the bottom side of his chin. "Hmm. Well, the both of you are damn lucky to be alive. Not many people can cross paths with Phillipe Moreaux and live to tell about it. Go on Harry."

 

Harry took a long sip of his own lukewarm coffee and then told Janus about the Burrow, Kraven's visit, and the raid on Malfoy Manor. 

 

"So Phillipe is working with Lucius!" Janus said as he continued to stare ahead at Harry. "The plot thickens, and I'd bet dollars to donuts that someone else is involved."

 

"Why makes you say that?" Harry asked.

 

"Just a thought that I had, but Moreaux was banished to Nurmengard years ago. The only way to get out from there would be through a powerful wizard, like Dumbledore or Voldemort. Both of them are dead. That leaves one other option. Someone with the perfect bargaining chip struck a deal, and now this monster is loose again."

 

“Was loose again,” Draco corrected. “Like Potter told you, he's dead. Ginny couldn't beat him fairly, so she dropped a chandelier on him. He's one less problem now.”

 

"I beg to differ, Draco," Janus responded placing his hands upon the table and lacing his fingers together. "I know Phillipe Moreaux. You might say we have a bit of history with one another, and I know that it will take more than a chandelier to stop him."

 

"I tell you he was dead!" Draco shouted rising up from the chair to stand above Janus. "I saw it myself." 

 

"Fine. You are allowed that opinion, but has there been official confirmation of his death? Where is your proof? Seeing someone lying under a chandelier is hardly qualification to say he's dead, Draco! The only way he'll die is if someone Avada Kedavra's the man. Hell, even then, I'd need to shake hands with his ghost before I'd believe it. Then, you can say that he is dead."

 

Janus raised his fingers to his forehead as if staving off a headache. "Alright, let's get back to the Ministry. Why are they not warning the people about Moreaux, and instead focusing everyone's attention on Draco and Narcissa?" 

 

"Ha!" Draco barked. "I knew it. Just like Fudge, Kingsley is bent!"

 

"Shut up, Draco!" Harry glared into Draco's eyes. "Kingsley is a good man. He would not resort to doing something like this." 

 

Harry looked around to Janus, hoping for affirmation. "Would he?" 

 

Janus shrugged. "It's difficult to say. Taking control in a position like the Minister of Magic and having to rebuild a world after Voldemort is a tall task. I will say that something does not seem right."

 

He got up, grabbed a small notepad and pencil from the drawer by the sink, and scrawled a note. 

 

He stepped over to the window and called out for Artemis. The large barn owl flew to the window. "Alright, girl I need for you to take this note, and be quick about it." He softly kissed the wing of the owl and she flew off from the window.

 

"What was that?" Draco asked. 

 

"A note to my contact seeking confirmed information, Draco." He paused as he looked at both young wizards. "In the meantime, we need to see about getting some food for this house. I need for the both of you to go and change into some Muggle clothing."

 

Before Draco could argue, Harry took him by the elbow and lead him back to the bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, Draco began to rant in a low voice. 

 

“I knew there was something wrong about him! Surely you see it now!” Draco pulled off his robes and stood in his underclothes, his arms crossed angrily over his chest. 

 

“Yes, he hates tea, he has a cat, he likes Muggle sports, he's the bloody devil,” Harry rolled his eyes, reached into the trunk, and tossed Draco his jeans. 

 

As they both pulled on their Muggle pants, Draco continued. “He's sadistic! After his bloody cat attacked me, he put a stinging potion on my head.”

 

Harry laughed as he shrugged into a tee shirt. “It's not a stinging potion. It's peroxide. Muggles use it to help cuts and scrapes heal. He has a 'no magic in the house rule,' remember? He was trying to make sure you don't get sick.” 

 

“Well, I still don't like him!” Draco retrieved his shirt from the trunk and put it on. Fastening his buttons, he added, “He's opportunistic and manipulative!”

 

“And what makes you choose those words?” Harry wondered. 

 

“He's bla-- Never mind.” Draco flushed furiously. “It doesn't matter. He's friends with Phillipe Moreaux, for Merlin's sake!” He fiddled with his left sleeve, trying to roll it into a neat cuff. 

 

Sighing in frustration, Harry crossed the room, took hold of Draco's sleeve, and rolled it for him. “He said they had crossed paths. It didn't sound like they were friends to me.” 

 

“Still... what was he doing that he ended up crossing paths with someone like that?” Draco asked. 

 

“So, to sum it all up, he's sadistic, he's manipulative, he's-- what else? opportunistic?-- and he's crossed paths with Phillipe Moreaux.” Harry rolled Draco's other sleeve and grinned. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

 

“I'm serious, Potter!” Draco's eyes widened with genuine distress. “I hate it here. I want to go back to the Burrow, or Grimmauld Place, or anywhere.”

 

“I know, Draco.” Harry sighed and finished adjusting Draco's sleeves. Noting that Draco had buttoned the shirt all the way up to the top, he took the liberty of undoing the top two buttons and settling the collar into a more natural position. Draco was so busy hating Janus, apparently, that he hadn't noticed Harry violating the standing order to keep his hands to himself. He let his hands slide over Draco's shoulders, and he squeezed in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. 

 

A sharp knock at the door made Draco dart away, and a moment later, Janus poked his head in. “You ready to go?” 

 

“Yes,” Harry said quickly. For a moment, he shared Draco's intense dislike of Janus. 

 

“Good. When we get to town, you'll both fit in and stay quiet. Harry, that means no magic. Draco, that means no wand.” He held out his hand expectantly. 

 

“Not bloody likely!” Draco spat. 

 

“Why?” Harry asked Janus. 

 

“Because I can trust you to control yourself, Harry. Draco, on the other hand, doesn't understand simple rules, as evidenced by the fact he cast a minor charm at around ten thirty last night.” 

 

“Draco!” Harry groaned. “What did you do?”

 

“It was only 'Tergeo' and only because I don't know how clean the bed is.” Draco waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn't mean I have no self-control, and it certainly doesn't mean you have the right to take my--”

 

Janus looked at Draco and mouthed a word. Harry guessed it might have been “leverage”.

 

“Fine.” Draco handed over the wand and mouthed something back. Harry was quite sure it was “bastard”.


	28. Everything About You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all of our readers. Another chapter down, and another just begun. First off I need to make a small disclosure. In this chapter there are a few lyrics to a song. Those lyrics and the song belong to Duran Duran.
> 
> Now with that out of the way, sit back, and enjoy this chapter. It's not as long as the two previous but still a most enjoyable chapter, that we hope you all will like.
> 
> Thank you for your dedication.

Chapter 28: Everything About You

 

 

“I'm not getting in that!” Draco folded his arms across his chest and glared at the car. He stood with his feet spread apart, leaning forward slightly as if bracing himself for Janus or Harry to tackle him and force him into the vehicle. 

 

Janus made a sound like a cross between a groan and a growl as he unlocked the doors and opened the passenger side. 

 

“It's fun!” Harry said brightly. “It's like riding in a carriage on the way to Hogwarts.” 

 

“No, it's not. The carriage has thestrals pulling it. It makes sense. That-” Draco waved a hand at the car “-- how does that bloody thing even work without magic?” 

 

Janus sighed. “Somehow I don't think a lecture on the internal combustion engine is going to help. Let's put it this way-- we either go into town to get food, or we stay here and starve. And while we're starving, we can talk. About things. Things we've done. Things we've seen--” 

 

Draco flushed and without a word, shoved his way past Janus and into the front passenger seat of the Mini Cooper. Harry had to scramble over him in order to get in the back seat. Before starting the ignition, Janus reached across Draco to close the passenger-side door and to buckle Draco's seat belt for him. 

 

“You don't have to tie me up!” Draco huffed, pulling at the canvas strap. “I'm not going to jump out.” 

 

“That's not what it's for.” Janus glanced in the rear view mirrors before pulling out of the driveway and onto a narrow dirt road. He flashed a grin at Draco. “It's to keep your body from flying through the glass in case we crash. I wouldn't want you breaking my window, now, would I?” 

 

“Does this car have a radio?” Harry asked, hoping to forestall Draco's reply. 

 

Janus nodded and touched a knob on the dashboard. Harry jumped as music came blasting from the speaker behind him. Steam in the subway, earth is afire... 

 

“Ugh! Turn that noise down!” Draco clamped his hands over his ears. 

 

Shrugging, Janus turned the knob, and the music faded until it blended with the sounds of the car. 

 

Draco let his hands fall to his lap and peered out the window. “Where are we going, anyway?” 

 

“I told you; into town to get food.” Janus glanced at Harry in the rear view mirror and rolled his eyes. 

 

“Yes, I'm not stupid. I want to know where we are. And don't give me however many miles from home. Are we-- are we even still in Britain?” 

 

Harry watched Janus frown in the mirror. The radio filled the silence. In touch with the ground. I'm on the hunt I'm after you. 

 

“Well?” Draco prompted. 

 

“Yes.” Janus nodded. “We're still in Britain. And that's the most you're going to get. I don't need anyone advertising my location.” 

 

“You're being paranoid! If we need to run, we won't know where to go,” Draco shot back. “You've bullied us into coming with you, and you won't tell us where we are. There's a word for what you're doing. It's 'kidnapping!'” 

 

“Believe you me, Draco, if I thought I could turn you loose and get away with it...” Janus took his left hand off the wheel and pinched his forehead. 

 

“Janus is only trying to help,” Harry said softly. 

 

Draco scoffed, twisted sideways in his seat and pressed his face to the glass. The dirt road had changed to pavement, and the music sounded louder and clearer. Strut on the line, it's discord and rhyme. I'm on the hunt I'm after you... 

 

Trees gave way to green rolling hills. The song on the radio ended, replaced by one about “dirty deeds” sung by a man with a hoarse, rasping voice. Janus tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and no one spoke until they reached the village and Janus pulled into a parking lot near the town square. 

 

Draco reached for the door handle, but Janus grabbed his wrist. “Wait. We can't have you using your names. You'll be 'Drew' and 'Henry' while we're around people. Got that? And one more thing. You two can't go into town looking like that.” 

 

“Like what?” Draco looked down at himself, smoothing the front of his shirt and fiddling with the cuffs. “We put on these stupid Muggle clothes like you asked us to.” 

 

“And you still look like wanted fugitives.” Janus reached into one of the pockets of his duster and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at Draco, then Harry, and Harry felt an odd jolt, like a mild electric shock. 

 

“So much for 'no magic,'” Draco grumbled. “Won't your little spell call attention to us or some rubbish?” 

 

“It might.” Janus shrugged. “But not as much as your faces would have.” 

 

Harry put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Janus' spell had made Draco's hair turn the color of polished copper, and when Draco turned back to glare at Harry, he did so with a pair of soft brown eyes set in a long, thin face. His complexion remained as pale as usual, save for a scattering of rust-colored freckles. 

 

Draco wrinkled his nose and pointed a finger at Harry. “He's uglier than a blast-end scrute's arse.” 

 

Harry raised his arm and saw that the back of his hand was covered in freckles slightly lighter than Draco's. He shrugged. “If it upsets you, I suggest you not look in the mirror.” 

 

Smirking, Janus turned the rear-view mirror until Draco had a view of his own face. The pinched, mottled features instantly contorted into an eerily recognizable sneer. 

 

“You chose these disguises just to humiliate us, didn't you?” Draco demanded. 

 

“Better humiliated than dead!” Harry punched Draco on the shoulder. “Just get out of the car. The sooner we get done here the sooner he can change us back.” 

 

“Back?” Janus repeated, tilting his head and frowning in exaggerated puzzlement. 

 

“If I had my wand...” Draco grumbled. 

 

“Then you'd do something stupid, which is why you don't have it,” Janus growled. 

 

Harry reached into the front seat, opened the passenger door, and gave Draco a meaningful shove. 

 

After Janus released his seatbelt, Draco hopped out of the car and took off across the square. 

 

“I'll catch him up,” Harry promised. 

 

“I guess you should. He'd do too much damage if we released him into the wild.” Janus sighed. 

 

“He's not that bad, you know. Not if you'd give him a chance and stop provoking him.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Misunderstood soul, hard-knock life, needs a little love and understanding.” Janus got out of the car, and Harry followed. 

 

“You have no idea what he's--” Seeing the expression of contempt on Janus' face, Harry stopped himself and shook his head. “Where should we meet you?” 

 

“Over at Smyth's.” He jerked a thumb toward a general store across the street. 

 

Harry nodded and turned in the direction Draco had gone. 

 

“Harry?” 

 

“Yes?” He looked over his shoulder to see Janus standing with his hands in his pockets. 

 

“Tell Malfoy he can pick what he wants for dinner.” 

 

“Thanks.” Harry turned and jogged across the square in the direction Draco had gone, but Draco was nowhere to be found. Shading his eyes, Harry turned in a circle, scanning the green grass of the square, the stone benches scattered around it, and the various shops and houses he could see. He cursed under his breath and began walking past the storefronts, wondering what would have caught Draco's interest. He peeked inside several windows, his frustration growing. Having rounded a corner, he heard a familiar voice coming through an open door. 

 

“-- anyone got a map around here?” Draco was asking. 

 

Harry darted through the door into what appeared to be a pub. Small wooden tables filled the main room, which was ill-lit and smelled of tobacco smoke and fry oil. A bored-looking woman sat behind the bar, reading a newspaper, while a man perched on a bar stool, clutching a mug in his hands. The woman was shaking her head. 

 

“Haven't got a map. Sorry.” She turned the page of her newspaper without bothering to look up at Draco or Harry. 

 

“At least tell me the name of this town!” Draco whined. He reached out to pull the paper from her hands, but Harry yanked him back. 

 

“Dra-- Drew, our cousin says you can pick out what you want for dinner. Come on.” Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve. 

 

“No! Not until I get some answers.” Draco's right hand fluttered from his left sleeve to his front pocket to the waistband of his pants. Not finding his wand, he folded his arms across his chest, his orange-colored eyebrows knitting into a scowl. “The name of this town-- what is it?” he repeated. 

 

The woman lowered her newspaper, pursed her lips, and folded her own arms. Short and squarely built, she had the face of a no-nonsense schoolteacher. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a tight bun atop her head, and she wore little wire-framed glasses. She looked at Draco and Harry as if they were unruly pupils. 

 

“And how did you get here without knowing where you are?” she asked. 

 

“That's none of your concern!” Draco snapped. “I have the right to know where I am--” 

 

“Benton.” The man at the bar raised his hands in an expansive gesture. “Ain't much, but that's the name o' this place. Good old Benton.” 

 

“Which tells me nothing--” Draco began. 

 

“We can find a map later,” Harry promised, tugging on Draco's sleeve. “We need to get back to the store.” 

 

“I can show you where we are.” The man at the bar moved his mug and dragged his finger through the ring of moisture, leaving a wet trail in the rough shape of Britain. “See, we're somewhere in here--” he made a wet blot with his finger near the bottom of the outline “-- and London's up here--” he made another blot “-- an' the highway, it'll take you anywhere you want to go, but it's getting there that's the tricky part.” He frowned in concentration. “Let me start again.” After wiping the moisture with his sleeve, he dipped his finger in his mug and made a glistening trail of beer across the polished wood. 

 

“Never mind!” Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to the barkeep. “I have other questions. The man who lives north of here, drives a red car, do you know him?” 

 

“Janus? Yeah, we've met.” The woman nodded. 

 

“And have you noticed anything weird about him?” Draco leaned forward on the bar, his expression intense. 

 

Harry let his hand fall away from Draco's arm. He wanted to hear the answer, too. 

 

“Weird? You mean like wearing that daft hat and his long coat, even in the summer?” 

 

“No!” Draco sighed. “Not the bloody stupid hat! I mean anything weird, like have you ever seen him take out his wa-- his stick and wave it around at people or point it at things?” 

 

The woman's eyebrows shot up, and she opened her mouth, then closed it as if unable to think of a response. 

 

“He means an actual stick,” Harry clarified. “Like a twig, or part of a tree branch.” 

 

“No, nothing like that.” The woman laughed and shook her head. “Quite a funny sight that would be, though, wouldn't it?” A fresh wave of laughter came over her, and she clapped a hand to her chest. Once the laughter faded, she frowned again, and her eyes went unfocused. “There was one time I saw Janus, though, at least I think it was him, but he looked--” 

 

“Marge!” A cheerful voice called from the doorway, and Harry whirled to see Janus silhouetted against the bright mid-morning light. “Willy,” Janus continued, nodding to the man who still fussed over his beer map, muttering to himself about how to get to the highway. 

 

“Morning, Janus.” The barkeep jumped, her eyes darting nervously. She pulled a rag from under the bar and erased the fruit of Willy's labor, ignoring the drunk's protest. “These boys were just asking about you, wanting to know if you waved sticks at people!” 

 

“I see.” Janus stepped into the bar and placed one hand on Draco's shoulder and the other on Harry's. His fingers tightened in a painful pinch and then loosened when Draco cried out. Janus' jaw muscles twitched, and the dark cloud seemed to pass over his eyes again before he flashed an ingratiating smile. “Don't mind my cousins here, Marge.” He let go of Harry and Draco and leaned forward on the bar as if imparting a secret. “They're... special needs kids, if you know what I mean. They were in an institution from the time they were eleven years old until just recently. It's not that they were released; just that the place got destroyed. I'm watching out for them until they can be evaluated and put somewhere safe.” 

 

“Oh, I didn't realize...” Marge's face softened, and she looked from Harry to Draco to Janus with an expression that could have been borrowed from Hermione. 

 

“That's a load of rubbish!” Draco snapped, pouting. “We were at school!” 

 

“A special school,” Janus agreed, patting Draco on the head and tousling his hair. “For special kids like you.” 

 

“Get your hands off me!” Draco slapped Janus away and glared. 

 

Janus slouched against the bar with a dramatic sigh. “The mood swings, the temper tantrums, it's all part of his condition.” 

 

“You've embarrassed him enough,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. “Let's go.” 

 

“Once one gets going, it sets the other one off.” Janus jerked his thumb at Harry. “They're a handful. Doesn't make 'em any less family though.” 

 

“If there's anything I could do to help...” Marge offered. When Janus shook his head, she looked relieved. 

 

With surprising strength, Janus took hold of Harry's right elbow and Draco's left. Harry could hear the sound of Draco's shoes scraping on the floor as they were dragged outside the pub. Janus didn't let go of Harry and Draco until they reached the car, where he flung open the door and stood behind them, blocking any potential retreat. Harry darted into the back seat, pulling Draco with him. 

 

Janus slammed the car door with a tooth-rattling thud that made the Mini Cooper rock on its tires. The glare he gave them through the windows was enough to make Draco shrink against the backrest and clutch at Harry's arm. After getting in the car, Janus shut his own door with another reverberating smack. A moment later, the tires squealed as they pealed out onto the road. The acceleration of the car threw Harry and Draco against the seats. 

 

As they drove out of the village, Draco looked back, puzzled. “Aren't we going to the store? Potter said you told him I could pick out our dinner.”

 

Janus kept his eyes on the road, his face expressionless. 

 

“Well?” Draco prompted, raising a hand toward the sleeve of Janus' duster. 

 

Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled it back. “Don't press it. I don't think he's in the mood.” 

 

While Draco rested his cheek against the window glass, Harry watched Janus in the rear view mirror, half-expecting to see the strange shift in his eyes again. Instead, Janus looked blank as he watched the road, his fingers twitching in time with the radio. ...I hate the rain and sunny weather. And I, I hate the beach and mountains, too... 

 

As they neared the driveway of Janus' house, Harry felt a slight tingle and looked over to see Draco's familiar silver-blond hair. “We're back to normal,” he said quietly. 

 

“Good thing we're home, eh?” Draco grinned at Janus. “Would have been embarrassing if your little spell had worn off in the village, wouldn't it? Why am I not surprised you can't do a decent glamor?” 

 

“Didn't wear off. We passed through the protective barrier around the place. It disrupts any existing enchantment. Nothing but the best protection for my favorite cousins.” After parking, Janus pulled a lever under his seat and exited the car. 

 

Harry pushed Draco out and followed behind him. Both of them soon found paper grocery bags shoved into their arms, and Janus managed to handle two and still open the front door with his keys. In the kitchen, Janus set down his bags. Once Draco had done the same, Janus struck without warning, seizing a fistful of Draco's shirt and yanking until their faces nearly touched. 

 

“You jeopardized the entire life I've built here with your little stunt, Malfoy.” 

 

“Afraid of what I'd say about you in front of your friends, or is it what I'd find out about you?” Draco snarled. 

 

“Right now, I'm afraid of what I'll have to do if you give me any more trouble.”

 

“Do your worst, then. Give up your leverage and you won't have anything to hold over my head!” Draco tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and grinned. 

 

“You think that's my worst?” Janus let out a short, bark-like laugh. “For a sniveling little dark wizard wanna be, you have no imagination.” His knuckles whitened, and his jaw spasmed. He continued in a low, husky tone. “You have no idea what I'm holding back right now.” 

 

“Is it more empty threats? Because if you're planning to bore me death I'd rather you used the killing curse and got done with it.” Draco swiped at Janus' arms, but Janus hardly seemed to notice. 

 

Harry let the bag he still held fall to the floor with a resounding “thud”. Heavy cans tore through the brown paper and rolled across the floor. Both Janus and Draco startled, and the latter let go of Draco's shirt. “I've had enough of both of you!” Harry announced. Reasonably confident that Janus and Draco wouldn't kill each other, he went to the kitchen door. 

 

As he exited, he heard Janus say, “Help me pick up the damn cans.” Draco swore in return, and the sounds of the exchange only faded when Harry closed the heavy wooden door. 

 

Outside, sunlight filtered through the ancient trees, making blotchy patterns on the brick patio. Harry walked in as straight a line as possible, only moving left or right when he had to avoid one of the trees. The dense leaves above blocked out so much light that only moss grew on the ground, which was soft and squishy beneath his feet. He counted his steps, reaching two hundred and fifty-four before plowing headlong into an invisible barrier. 

 

The spell had the consistency of rubber when he tested it. Kicking and punching the barrier hurt, but not enough to bruise. “It's not a prison, it's a bloody padded cell!” He kicked again, this time in frustration. His hand drifted to the waistband of his pants, where he had tucked his wand. Involuntarily, he glanced over his shoulder. If he tried to apparate, Janus would know, somehow, and he would do something about it, something sneaky and strange, and somehow worse than a good honest punishment. Keeping a hand on the barrier, he walked the whole perimeter of their magical enclosure without finding any gaps. 

 

Having satisfied himself that he was indeed trapped, Harry turned back and sat down on one of the white plastic chairs on the brick veranda. The veranda also had a tiny metal table, and on the other side of it was a second chair lying on its side, partially buried in blown debris such as leaves and twigs. Unsurprisingly, Janus must not have company often.

 

Harry heard a plaintive sound and looked down to see Janus' cat rubbing on his shins. He let his fingers trail over the cat's head and body, eliciting a loud rumble of appreciation. After circling Harry's legs several times, the Siamese curled into a ball at his feet and draped a paw over both eyes as if shielding his face for a nap. 

 

A few minutes later, the back door swung open with a loud creak. Janus backed out carefully, easing the screen door closed with his foot while he held a wooden tray in his hands. When he set the tray down on the table, Harry saw a mug of hot tea, two plates with sandwiches, and a tall glass of iced tea with a wedge of lemon floating in it. 

 

“Peace offering,” Janus said simply. 

 

Harry took the mug and watched as Janus righted the other chair and settled himself with his glass and plate. “What about Draco?” Harry asked. 

 

“He won't starve.” Janus' jaw had twitched at the mention of Draco, but after a moment, he relaxed and waved a hand toward the kitchen. “There's a plate on the table for him. I tried to get him to come out of the bedroom, and he had a few colorful metaphors for me. I'm not going to haul him out and force feed him.” 

 

“He wasn't wrong, you know,” Harry blurted. “You don't tell us anything. You're just like-- it doesn't matter. He doesn't like being in the dark, that's all. Neither do I.” 

 

“So ask me anything!” Janus put down his plate and spread his arms. “I'm an open book.” 

 

“I doubt that,” Harry muttered under his breath. Out loud he said, “Alright. What about the hat and the coat in the middle of summer?” 

 

“My suit of not-so-shining armor. The wards on the hat alone took three months' work. The coat was a little project for my graduate work in defense against the dark arts. Besides, I like having pockets. Next?” 

 

Harry glanced out at the trees, feeling a little foolish. “Of course,” he murmured. “I didn't think.” He looked back at Janus. “Why wouldn't you tell us the name of the village or let us look at a map?” 

 

“Simple. I don't trust my own wards with your life, and I don't trust Malfoy with anything. If he's able to get through the barriers and find some of his Death Eater friends, he can lead them to us, assuming he remembers Willy's beer map.” Janus took a bite of his sandwich. 

 

“He wouldn't do that.” Harry shook his head. “You don't understand--” 

 

“That's where you're wrong.” Janus averted his eyes, tracing the rim of his glass with his index finger. “Arthur told me, Harry, and I understand, I do--”

 

“It isn't just... that!” Harry protested, frustrated. 

 

“No, it's never just that.” Janus laughed. “It's always something more, something you see that no one else can, some deeply buried redeeming quality, some inner pain--”

 

“I'm not the only one who sees it!” Harry snapped. 

 

“You're the only one in this house. Harry, he's Lucius' son. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.”

 

“I don't believe that. Besides, Lucius wasn't like Remus. He's not... someone Draco looks up to. He's more like my uncle Vernon.” Realizing the analogy would mean nothing to Janus, Harry waved a hand. “Draco isn't like him. Just trust me.” 

 

“You're not exactly objective, Harry. I'd trust my cat more, and Socrates doesn't like him.” 

 

Harry thrust his chin out and looked Janus in the eyes. “Teddy Lupin does.” 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Draco paced the tiny bedroom, arms folded across his chest. Every so often, he would kick at the mattress to vent his frustration. He was always careful to avoid the bed frame and the trunk, not because he was afraid of whatever it was that Janus was holding back, but because the thought of Harry teasing him about his... personal activities was too horrible to contemplate. 

 

His stomach made a disgusting squelching noise, reminding him that it had been too long since that morning's awful, rubbery eggs and greasy sausage. He opened the door of the bedroom and poked his head out. To his relief, Janus was nowhere to be seen. The thought of looking into those creepy bloodshot eyes again, or worse, seeing them turn dark, almost made Draco lose his appetite. He swung the door open slowly, smiling to himself when it didn't make a sound. 

 

Silently, he walked into the kitchen and found it unoccupied. A plate with a sandwich on it sat on the small wooden table, and next to it was a scrap of paper with “Draco” scrawled on it. The sandwich didn't look poisoned, and when Draco lifted the top slice of bread to see what was inside it, he found sliced beef, bright yellow mustard, and a thin sliver of tomato. His mouth watered slightly at the smell. 

 

If it was poisoned, Draco decided, Harry would find his dead body and finally see Janus for... whatever it was Janus happened to be. He picked up the sandwich and took a small bite, then another. As he ate, he heard the sound of voices coming through the screen door. 

 

“Teddy Lupin does.” That was Harry, sounding self-righteous, as usual. Draco moved across the kitchen until he could see through the screen door. 

 

“Hmph!” Janus made a surprised noise. “Only because he's too young to know better.” After a long pause and a sip from his glass, he asked. “How is my brother? I mean...” 

 

“He's not infected. And yes, we're sure. He's a metamorphmagus, just like Tonks was.” 

 

“Little 'Dora Tonks.” Janus' mouth quirked into a smile. “The last time I saw her, she was a brat in pink pig tails. And now...” The smile faded. He closed his eyes and sighed. “There's so much I've missed, Harry.” 

 

“You would have liked Tonks. She was an auror, one of the bravest.” Harry's face glowed with a reverence that made Draco roll his eyes. 

 

“I know. Remus wrote to me about her. I just wasn't back in time... Not in time to see 'Dora all grown up, and not in time to fight alongside her and Remus.” 

 

“If you had been, you might be another headstone in the cemetery. At least this way Remus has someone else to remember him, and Teddy has a brother.” 

 

Draco finished his sandwich, using a monumental force of will to keep it from coming back up. Remus has someone else to remember him... Teddy has a brother. He mouthed the words mockingly and rolled his eyes again. 

 

“Hmph.” Janus grunted and put his plate down on the table. 

 

“Janus... Is that why you're... I mean because you blame yourself, is that why you're...” Harry sputtered. 

 

“You mean is that the tragic origin story behind my little Incredible Hulk impression earlier?” 

 

“Yes. I think. Is that your way of going back on your promise to answer my questions?” Harry flashed that irritating smirk, the one he used on Draco at least a hundred times a day. 

 

“You want an answer? It's 'no'. Not even close. Malfoy just really bugs me.” He shrugged. 

 

“Fine. Another thing I still want to know-- why is he afraid of you?”

 

Draco froze in place, so startled that he had to force himself to breathe. His mouth went dry, and his palms itched with a sudden outpouring of sweat. 

 

“Because I could kick his butt?” Janus shrugged. 

 

“No, there's something else. Draco's used to being threatened. He's been beaten, cursed, and tortured, and I've seen him stand up to the person who did the most damage. Something about you scares him, though, enough that he gave up his wand. You used it again to make him get in the car. If I'm going to trust you, I have to know--” 

 

Janus shook with silent laughter, waving a hand for silence until he regained the ability to speak. “It's-- it's nothing, trust me.” 

 

“That's just it. After today, I can't,” Harry said in what Draco thought of as his dramatic-hero voice. 

“Harry!” Janus groaned. “I can't tell you without betraying a confidence. I don't want to do that, not even to Malfoy. Not unless he gives me a good reason to, anyway.” 

 

“Not good enough.”

 

“Alright, look, I want us to be friends--” Janus began. Before he could finish, Artemis the owl swooped down onto the table and perched on one clawed foot, helping herself to the sandwich that sat untouched on a plate. She held the bread in her claw and tore into it with her beak. 

 

“Arty!” Janus chided. “Good timing, bad behavior.” He sighed and gave Harry an apologetic look as he untied the scroll from the owl's leg. “I can make you another one.” 

 

“No, it's fine. I'm not hungry.” 

 

“Are you sure? Because...” Janus trailed off as he scanned the scroll. His jaw twitched, his eyes went dark, and his hand clenched, shattering the glass he still held. One of the shards lodged in his palm, and blood began to ooze around it. 

 

“What is it?” Harry asked. 

 

“Confirmation.” Janus raised his head and looked toward the screen door. “Draco, get out here. Now.”

 

“I didn't do anything!” Draco protested. “I was just eating my lunch.” 

 

“Save it. I don't care.” Janus vehemently waved the scroll, scaring Artemis, who hooted her displeasure before taking off, carrying the remains of the sandwich in her talons. “This isn't about you. It's Moreaux. My contact at the Ministry says he's alive and kicking.”

 

“Then your contact is wrong. I told you before, I saw him dead. Even if Potter's girlfriend is bloody incompetent at dueling, it doesn't take a fat lot of skill to drop a chandelier on someone!” Draco pounded his right fist into his left palm. 

 

“Did you check his pulse?” Janus demanded. 

 

“I--” Draco flushed and glared down at the shards of glass on the ground. “No. I didn't have time.” 

 

“Then you don't know squat.” Janus crushed the scroll into a tiny ball, which soaked up some of the blood from his cut hand and became a soggy, red mass. 

 

“What does it matter?” Harry asked. “We're hidden here, and the Ministry aurors can find Phillipe and send him back to Nurmenguard.” 

 

“Last I checked, they were too busy chasing someone else.” Janus pointed one of his gruesomely bleeding fingers at Draco. “I knew I smelled Moreaux!” He rose and began to pace. 

 

“Your hand...” Harry stood up and took Janus by the wrist, twisting so that his palm faced upwards. As Draco watched in morbid fascination, Harry pulled out the dagger-like shard. Instantly, the blood pooled in the cup of Janus' palm. 

 

“I guess I didn't notice.” Janus flexed his fingers, and the blood ran off onto the patio. 

 

“Let me fix it.” Harry reached for his wand. 

 

“No!” Janus snarled. “No magic.” He turned and stormed through the screen door, leaving a trail of red droplets behind. 

 

Harry was on his heels, and Draco followed. In the kitchen, Janus stood at the sink, holding a bottle of the fire-potion he had used on Draco and pouring it over his own hand. 

 

“Janus,” Harry said quietly. “Who is Moreaux to you?” 

 

Janus shook his head. “Q and A session's over. If you want to make yourself useful, get me my pen and paper, and find Arty. I need another favor from my contact.” 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

"Well, that answers that question, Arty," Janus said as he stroked the owl's feathers. The owl hooted, and flew out the kitchen window with a portion of Janus' dinner leftovers clutched in her talons.

 

"Answers what?" Harry asked looking up from the book in his hands, a copy of The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. "Another letter from your contact?"

 

Janus folded the note and placed it in his pocket. "Yes, it was. I'm sorry, but I can’t--"

 

"I know. I know! You don't have to keep repeating yourself,” Harry said, slamming the book down on the table and rattling the empty plate. "It's another secret, which is why I can’t trust you. Why can’t you just tell me the truth?"

 

Janus scanned the title of the book and smiled. "That's a good book that you chose to read, Harry. One that I am sure you will find…relevant." 

 

“What does any of this have to do with this book?” Harry asked, closing his eyes and slowly twisting his neck, causing a loud snap to come from his spine before he opened his eyes again.

 

“Civilizations are reciprocal; they depend on each other, and when people forget that.... I was hoping that you’d understand a bit more, Harry.” He sighed deeply before continuing. "I don’t like keeping things from you, but it is for your protection."

 

"Protection?" Harry scoffed. "You call this protection!" He waved his hand around the room. "More like imprisonment!"

 

"I'm sorry, but--"

 

"Honestly, Draco and I could do a lot better on our own. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about protecting us anymore. The more I think about it, the harder it is to find a good reason to stay.”

 

"Really?" Janus asked, sitting back into the chair and folding his hands across his chest. "Let's see now. Because of your little adventure in London, two Muggles are dead." Janus held up one finger on his hand. "Your house elf is dead, too, and if Lucius knows where you live, I guarantee you that Moreaux does, too. So that makes two," he held up his index finger. "Malfoy Manor needs a damn good re-decorating job." A third finger raised on Janus' hand. "You put Ginny Weasley and the rest of her family on Moreaux’s radar. That makes four.

 

“Do you really want to keep pushing your luck, Harry? Sooner or later, either the Ministry or Moreaux is bound to find you and Malfoy, if you keep taking chances. So make your choice. Do you want to, in your words, keep doing things on your own? And, maybe you don't run across the Ministry or Moreaux. Or do you stay someplace safe? Here, for example. Tell me, what’s the worst thing that’s happened to you since you came here?"

 

“I--" Harry began. He looked down at the table, feeling sheepish. “You’d really let us leave if we want to?”

 

Janus rose from the table. “Sure, if that’s how you want it. Now, I have to go and get ready. Find Draco. Then the two of you meet me in the living room in five minutes with your answer."

 

Harry picked the book up and made his way to the bedroom, where Draco sat cross-legged on the bed with one of Janus’ books on the dark arts.

“What now?” Draco asked without looking up.

 

“He wants to know if we’re going to stay here or not.”

 

“So he’s trying to kick us out, too, then? Just like the Weasleys.” Draco snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

 

“No! He just--” Harry sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Maybe. I don’t know what answer he’s looking for. Not that I could blame him for wanting to be rid of us, after today."

 

"Wanting to be rid of me, you mean. He likes you." Draco closed the book and tossed it on the end of the bed.

 

"It doesn't matter." Harry grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged him to his feet. "He wants us both in the living room in five--right about now, and we're going to apologize and tell him we want to stay."

 

"Right. Remind me what gives you the right to order me around? Maybe I don't want to stay here. Maybe I'd rather fight Phillipe or go to Azkaban than spend another night in the same bed with you."

 

Harry's eyes narrowed, his lips tightly pursed. "I have my wand. Janus has yours. That's what gives me the right." Harry moved his hand down to Draco's wrist and dragged him into the living room, where Janus waited near the door, wearing his duster but holding a wizard's robe draped across his arm.

 

"Your answer?" Janus asked.

 

Harry glanced at Draco, who stared past Janus. "We'll stay."

 

“And you, Draco? Anything to add to that?" Janus tilted his head expectantly. 

 

"Yes." Draco took a step toward Janus. "If we stay, no more barriers, or wards, or whatever you call the spells keeping us here. We're not bloody mental patients, and we're not children. I won't be held prisoner by some Muggle-born American lunatic! And I get my wand back. Those are my terms."

 

"Your. Terms." Janus said the words slowly as if pondering their meaning. "So let me get this straight. You run off to God-knows-where, casting spells that send up a red flag for Phillipe Moreaux, and I get to take the blame when you get yourself killed? No. Here are my terms. Say the word, I'll drop you back on Arthur's doorstep, and we'll never see each other again. Stay here, and we do things my way." He looked away from Draco, meeting Harry's eyes. Elbowing Draco aside, he moved close to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stay here, and no one touches you. My word on Remus Lupin's grave."

 

"Janus," Harry said, "I've already told you. We'll stay." He glared at Draco until the Slytherin reluctantly nodded.

 

“Good.” Janus said as he nodded his head and let his hand fall to his side. "And you'll behave yourselves? No wandering off, no magic, no trouble? I have your word?"

 

Harry nodded, and Draco rolled his eyes and murmured, "Yeah, we'll be model citizens." When Janus made a rolling motion with his hand, Draco sighed and added, "You have my word!"

 

"All that I ask!" Janus grinned. "Right, now I have to leave for--"

 

“Leave?” Draco interrupted. “You mean you're going somewhere without us?” 

 

“Yes, Draco, I am,” Janus said. “And I don’t appreciate being interrupted.”

 

“So you're just leaving us here, alone and trapped inside this house?” Draco ashed as he shrugged away Harry’s hand from his wrist.

 

“Draco, stop!” Harry positioned himself between Janus and Draco.

 

“No, I won’t, Potter! I think we're deserved of a few answers.”

 

“Deserved? After what you done in the village today?” Janus barked. “I don’t think so.” Draco pushed Harry aside as Janus drew his wand, the tip of it touching Draco’s nose. 

 

“You get one warning, Malfoy. Back down now, or else I turn you into a rat and let Socrates hunt you for sport.”

 

Harry pushed Draco aside and onto the sofa where the Slytherin crossed his arms and turned away. “So much for your word on Lupin's grave."

 

"He's joking, Draco." Harry glanced at Janus for confirmation.

 

"Course I'm joking! Socrates never caught a rat in his life. Arty, on the other hand…" He trailed off as he scanned Harry's face, then Draco's, finding no sign of humor. “Now, it will probably be late when I come back, so the two of you just relax, and chill out. There is food in the kitchen and television if you care to watch. All I ask is that you don’t make a mess anywhere. Right, Malfoy?” Janus winked at Draco as he turned to go to the front door. “Don’t worry, Harry, just as added security I will set up some extra wards as I leave.”

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Draco leaped from the sofa as the front door closed. He raced to the nearest window and saw Janus casting several different spells into the sky before getting into the red Muggle car and driving out of sight.

 

“He’s gone!" Draco's face stretched with the first real smile he had had in days.

 

“And?” 

 

“And what, Potter?” Draco asked as Harry picked up the book and walked toward the bedroom. “Don’t you want to try and leave from here?”

 

“Leave?” Harry asked rounding on Draco in the bedroom doorway. “After what we just said to Janus?”

 

Draco scoffed as he swatted his hand in the air as if trying to swat away a fly. “Whatever, Potter. Do you actually think I meant any of that?”

 

“Yes! You should, otherwise it will appear that I just lied to him!” Harry shouted. “Sometimes I think Janus is right about you.” 

 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?" Draco asked as he followed Harry into the bedroom.

 

“It means that I don’t appreciate it when you try to sabotage everything because you don't like Janus. Maybe he should have turned you into a rat. I'm not sure I'd notice the difference.”

 

"Really funny, Potter." Draco’s hands shook as he envisioned himself snatching the book out of Harry’s hands and hitting the bloody Gryffindor with it. “Fine! I’m going to go and find a way out of here. You can sit here with your stupid book and pretend that all of this is fine and well!” 

 

“Look, Draco, think about this--if we do leave here, where are we going to go without endangering anyone? What about the Ministry and the twenty thousand galleon reward? What about Moreaux?” 

 

Draco scoffed as he crossed his arms and stared at Harry. “I’ll find a wand, deal with anyone that tries to catch me, and go hide someplace where no one will recognize me.”

 

“You idiot! We are doing that already!” Harry shouted as he threw the book at Draco. It narrowly missed Draco’s face, but crashed into the mirror on the closet door. Hundreds of fragments of glass fell onto the floor as Harry and Draco watched. 

 

Draco turned and grinned at Harry. “You did that, not me!” 

 

“Only because of you! Go ahead. Try to find a way out, but I'll tell you this right now, you're wasting your time.”

 

“Fine, bloody Saint Potter! I'll find a way and prove you wrong!” Draco shouted as he slammed the bedroom door. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Harry heard the front door close as he grabbed the pillow that was on the bed and hammered his fist repeatedly into it. “Stupid, bloody, Malfoy git!” Harry shouted with each blow into the pillow. 

 

After releasing the majority of his anger on the pillow he threw it back onto the bed, and raised the window to the bedroom, letting in a bit of fresh air. In the distance Harry could see Draco feeling around the edges of the boundaries. 

 

Harry’s lips parted into a small grin as he watched Draco struggle. “Janus is right,” Harry said to himself, “he will never learn.”

 

He looked over his shoulder at the broken mirror. “Maybe Janus won’t be too mad at me for that. It was an accident.” Harry walked over and picked up the book, being careful not to cut his fingers on the broken pieces of glass. He lightly shook the book, allowing any tiny fragments to fall from the pages and binding. 

 

“Well, at least the book isn’t damaged.” Harry opened the bedroom door to allow the air to flow more freely before returning to the window. He watched Draco walk sideways, feeling his way along an invisible barrier. The sight reminded Harry of a Muggle television show where a man dressed himself like a clown but did not say anything. 

 

“A mime trapped inside a box,” Harry said as he continued to watch Draco in the distance. Harry lay on the bed, the book resting on his torso, as he began to read the chapter on Augustus.

 

Half an hour later, a large flash of light illuminated the evening sky through the window, followed by what sounded like thunder overhead combined with Draco’s screams. Harry tossed the book aside and jumped out of the bed, scanning the entire view for Draco. He saw Draco getting up from the dirt driveway, slowly brushing the dust off his clothes. “Lesson learned, I hope,” Harry muttered and moved away from the window before Draco spotted Harry watching from the house. He curled back on the bed to begin reading as he heard stomping footsteps, and muttered curse words coming from the driveway. 

 

The front door slammed shut and seconds later Draco appeared in the doorway of the bedroom. Harry pretended not to see or hear Draco as the Slytherin stood there panting heavily. 

 

“Potter!” Harry heard Draco call his name. 

 

“Yes, Draco?” Harry responded not bothering to look over the book.

 

“Potter, look at me!” 

 

Harry laid the book down and looked at Draco. He tried to stifle the laughter that erupted from him, but could not keep his mouth from spreading into a large grin. “So…” Harry began while coughing to keep from laughing. “Did you find a way out?”

 

“Does it look like I found a way out?” Draco shouted at Harry.

 

Harry tilted his head to one side, and then to the other before holding his hands in front of him with the tips of his thumbs touching to form a frame-like shape that he focused his sight through. “I don’t know Malfoy. The spiked hair things looks kind of perfect for you,” Harry mocked, snickering.

 

“Fine, whatever! Laugh all you want, Potter. I’m glad you find it all so amusing. The bastard set up some kind of electrical barrier on the wards,” Draco snapped as he stepped carefully over the broken glass and walked over to the clothes drawer. “I thought you said that when you tried it felt like rubber.”

 

“It did,” Harry said as he hid his face behind the book. “I guess Janus knew that you would try to search the barriers when he left. So that was his extra protection.” 

 

"He’s supposed to be protecting us from what's out there, not the other way around!" Draco shouted, waving a pair of undershorts emphatically. 

 

"This--" he pointed to his frizzed hair. "This is not protection."

 

"And what if you had gotten through the barrier?" Harry asked. "What if Phillipe Moreaux had been on the other side? You don't even have your wand."

 

"Thanks to Janus." Draco began to pace, a set of clothes clutched to his side. Broken glass crunched under his shoes. "I don't understand why you trust him! What is it that you think you see in him?"

 

"He's Remus Lupin's son!" 

 

"And I'm Lucius Malfoy's!" Draco sneered. He had stopped his pacing and stood just outside the bedroom's open door. "It means nothing. There's more to it than that. I've seen the little smiles you flash at him, the way you hang on his every word, how quickly you jumped to pull that piece of glass out of his hand--"

 

"Are you serious?" Harry heard himself laugh, though he felt more shock than humor. "I'm not even going to argue with that." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, feeling suddenly tired.

"Fine. And if you like Janus so much, you can go wait in his bed for him."

 

Harry took a deep breath, waiting for the wave of anger to subside before he answered. He wanted to go to Draco, but his shoes were in the living room on the other side of the pile of broken glass. The frustration of not being able to touch Draco combined with the sting of his words. "I'll sleep right here, thanks. Alone. You can have the sofa. And close the door behind you on your way out."

 

Draco’s mouth dropped. “What? Well, what about that beast of a cat?”

 

“Kiss and make up with him,” Harry shrugged as he disappeared behind the book, leaving Draco to seethe in anger.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

After spending what felt like an eternity in the bathroom, trying to flatten his spiked blond hair down, Draco emerged and opened the door to the bedroom. 

 

“I told you, no,” Harry said. 

 

“As if I wanted to,” Draco sneered as he threw his dirty, seared clothes at Harry, and closed the bedroom door.

 

Draco walked into the living room, looking around for the blue-eyed Siamese cat. “Good, he’s nowhere to be found,” Draco muttered as he sat on the sofa. “How does Potter expect me to sleep on something like this? No telling how long it has been since this thing was cleaned, or how many times that bloody cat has slept on it.” He reached for the small, hard pillow that barely fit the back of his head, and he sighed deeply as his feet dangled over the other arm of the sofa. “Some way to sleep.”

 

Sleep did not come to Draco very easily as the young wizard never could get comfortable on the sofa. He tossed and turned, swapped ends of the sofa, and even tried to sleep with the uncomfortable pillow. Each time his mind felt like it was close to drifting into that sweet and relaxing darkness, Draco would hear a voice whispering into his consciousness.

 

With a temper like that, you should be a ginger.

 

Draco opened his eyes, expecting to see Janus standing over him, smiling with those bloodshot eyes, and that ridiculous floppy hat. He rolled over onto his right side, his head resting on his wrist and right arm. The darkness began to flow into his mind as the small white dots began to mix into the nothingness. 

 

Think you have me pegged?

 

Draco’s eyes flashed open as his brain jumped into overdrive. The imagined voice seemed to come from directly behind his left ear. Quickly, Draco turned over and caught himself on the dark floor before crashing onto it. “Damn it. It’s all Potter’s fault. If he wasn’t so much of a prat..."

 

Draco’s mind quickly went back to the memory of himself and Harry in the Muggle washroom, and how intoxicating it felt to be so close to him like that. Draco felt a dull ache below his abdomen and could feel heat and life gaining strength down there. “No!” Draco whispered as he grabbed himself through his sleepwear. “No, not now.” In hopes of stopping the rush of blood, Draco closed his eyes and flipped himself over onto his stomach, slamming his crotch into the sofa cushions. 

 

I prefer the term “leverage”.

 

Once more, the voice came from the darkness as if Janus were kneeling right beside the sofa. Draco stormed off the couch and fumbled for the light switch on the wall. His fingertips found the switch as he flicked it up, bathing the room in an electrical glow. 

 

Draco squinted at the brightness and searched the room for the source of the voice. “Janus?” The only sound in the room was the large clock that ticked away each second of every minute. Draco sat back down on the sofa, and glared at the closed bedroom door. “I hope you can’t sleep tonight, Potter, without me in there beside you,” Draco sneered. “It’s the least of what you deserve.”

 

Quickly the words came back to Draco as an idea formed in his mind. “Janus! I can't get away from you, I might as well get to know you.” Draco crept down the hallway and turned the knob to the bedroom that Janus slept in. The door swung open with a high-pitched creak. “I want to know everything about you.”


	29. The Price Of A Secret

Chapter 29: The Price of a Secret

 

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, Level Eight, Atrium," the cool voice stated as the payphone doors opened to reveal the expansive atrium. 

"Impressive." Janus looked around the floor, admiring the architecture, before spotting the young Auror sitting behind the security desk. "And there you are," he mumbled to himself as the auror yawned and stretched in his chair.

Janus walked past the shimmering fountain, not bothering to give it a moment's look, instead choosing to smile at the Auror as he approached the desk. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but I need to go back to my office. I forgot a very important memo that I need to have," Janus said in his best apologetic tone.

The auror's brow furrowed as he scanned Janus, head to toe. "You? Sorry, but guest hours for the Ministry of Magic ended at six," he said tapping a white sign on the desk that showed the visiting hours.

Janus chuckled. "I know how strange this is, but I’m not a guest. I work on the fifth floor. The Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'm a liaison to the WTF-- that’s the Wizarding Task Force, or what you all would call the American Ministry of Magic." He reached into the pocket of his robe, pulled out a folding leather case, and flashed the badge inside. 

"Double-u tee eff?” the man repeated, blinking at the badge.

“You didn’t get the memo?” Janus shook his head. “Obviously an oversight. I told ‘em to send it to everyone important.”

The young auror behind the desk seemed unconvinced.

"Hang on, I think I have my Ministry papers here somewhere," Janus said as he patted and searched his robe pockets. "Ah, here we are." 

The auror scratched at the back of his head as he scanned the documents. Janus watched the man’s lips move as he read each word, his brow knit in concentration. "Alright," he said after handing the parchment back to Janus. "This all looks good, but make it fast. Five minutes, maximum."

"Thank you," Janus said as extended a small nod toward the auror. "Pardon my asking…"

"Yes?”

"You're new here aren't you? I mean, I don't recall seeing you at this desk before?"

"Just finished auror training," he said as he stretched again. "My first assignment alone and I don't want some bloody Yank getting me fired on my first night!”

“No, we can’t have that. I guess I picked the wrong night to leave the papers on my desk. In that case, I will be back in three." Janus winked.

"Just make sure you do, mate. Now go on!" The young Auror propped his feet up on the edge of the desk and leaned back in the chair, his fingers laced behind his head.

Janus looked over his shoulder as he slowly walked toward the lifts and then stopped as the auror settled in the chair. As he walked back toward the desk he said, "I'm sorry, but I won't bother you again after this."

"What now?" The young man huffed as he got out of the chair and turned around, only to be met with a flash of red light. 

He collapsed to the floor. Janus stood over him, shaking his head. "Sorry, kid." He pointed his wand at the unconscious auror. "Obliviate."

\-------------------------------------------------------

Draco stood looking into the dark bedroom. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he glanced over his left shoulder. He walked down the hallway, making sure to avoid the places in the hardwood floor that would creak when stepped upon. Even the soft tap of the soles of his shoes on the floor made him jump, afraid that someone had heard, so he slid them off and left them outside the door of the spare bedroom. Gently easing the bedroom door open, he saw Harry curled on his side, lightly snoring. From the floor, Draco's own face stared back at him, reflected in the larger pieces of the broken mirror. The smaller shards glistened in the hall light, twinkling like winter snow. "Seven years bad luck, Potter," Draco whispered. "Isn't that what the Muggles say?" Giving Harry and the glass one last look, he closed the bedroom door and made his way back to Janus’ bedroom.

Draco reached into the dark room, letting his fingers glide over the wall. "Where is it?" Frustrated at not finding the light switch on the wall, Draco strode into the dark bedroom. He swore loudly as a fierce blow to his knee stopped him in his tracks, flaring pain racing up his leg. His left hand grabbed his bruised knee as his right reached upwards toward the wall. When he put his palm against the wall, his fingers found what they had been looking for. A soft light from above the bed came on, filling the room with a warm, electrical glow. 

Draco inhaled deeply as he rubbed and flexed his knee. The air smelled strangely sweet, like his mother's garden, which puzzled him. He scanned the room, looking for the source of the scent. Two extinguished candles sat beside the bed on small nightstands, as their fragrance lightly wafted through the room. “What's he covering up?” Draco wondered. He closed his eyes and inhaled again. There was a note of vileness underneath the floral aroma, and it wasn't the old sock smell that Draco would have expected. Acrid and putrescent, it felt oddly familiar.

The walls of the room were wooden brown, like those in the rest of the house. Draco noted the differences between this room and that of the bedroom that he had to sleep in. The bed was not a four-poster bed that Draco was used to seeing, but a simple bed large enough for two people to sleep in, the same size bed that was in the other bedroom. Two blue pillows sat at the head of the bed while the sheets and fittings were solid white. On top of the sheets, perfectly spread across the bed, was a brown blanket that had a crouched tiger sewn into the blanket. Lying on top of the blanket was a large book that had a piece of white parchment sticking out from it. "Julius Caesar? Muggles and their ridiculous stories," Draco snorted as he looked away from the bed.

Draco scanned the pictures upon the wall and noticed that the three were all of large cats. Above the bed was a male lion, proudly displaying its mane. On the opposite wall from the bed was a black leopard. The beast lay coiled under dense jungle foliage. To the right of the bed, beside the only window in the bedroom, hung a picture of a cheetah stalking its prey. “He’s completely obsessed with cats,” Draco whispered to himself as he took careful note of each stationary picture. 

Turning in a slow circle, Draco saw what it was that he had banged his knee on. A small table stood between the doorway and the closet. A boxy object took up most of the table. His eyes wandered over the device as his fingers slid along the edges of the shiny item. "Some kind of a Muggle television set?" Draco whispered as stood in front of the table. "I…B…M," Draco mouthed. "Must be another weird contraption that he brought over from America." His fingers found their way to the table drawer. He pulled it open and saw several small, colored, square objects and round shiny discs. "What are these for?" Draco asked as he held the disc up to the light, and saw his reflection on the back of the item. "Muggles, I'll never understand them!" Whatever the plastic things and the mysterious gadget were, they told him nothing about Janus. He tossed the disc back into the drawer as his eyes fell upon the large dresser that sat under the leopard picture. “Let's see if there's anything useful in there." 

Draco pulled out the top drawers and looked through the items that he saw. Rows of socks lined the first drawer that Draco opened, and he noted the precision with which the socks were aligned. The drawer was halved, with one side having dark blue socks, and the other half lined with plain, white socks. He carefully reached below the socks and felt the bottom of the drawer. “Nothing there,” he said as he closed the drawer and opened the next one. 

This drawer held precisely folded white shirts and several rows of ugly white briefs with wide elastic waist bands. Seeing the garments automatically made Draco think of Janus wearing them, and he wrinkled his nose and shuddered. For some reason, thinking about Janus that way reminded of him of Janus walking in him last night, making his stupid, snide remarks in his horrible accent. Wanting this moment to be over as quickly as possible, he reached into the drawer, trying not to think about the fact that he was touching something that had touched Janus in intimate places. The bottom of the drawer was smooth and clean, with no hidden objects revealing themselves.

Draco closed the drawer after finding nothing to answer his questions. He shook his hand as if trying to shake away his own revulsion, and then wiped his hand on the front of his leg. “No telling what kind of Muggle germs were in those.” He opened the next drawer to find it empty. “Odd. Where are the rest of his clothes?” Draco continued to open the remainder of the drawers only to find each of them empty.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The old auror stood guard in front of the stone colored wall, yawning and rubbing his dry eyes with the tip of his fingers, alleviating the gritty feeling that came with taking the late shift these days. "You’re getting too old to be pulling these night shift watches, Westbrook," the man whispered to himself. He could think of several aurors who would have been better suited for the job--young, ambitious kids, as he called the new aurors these days, who would have loved the prestige of guarding a notorious prisoner. Westbrook himself would rather be home with his wife, Lena. He smiled as he rubbed his hand through the course stubble on his jaw. He longed for his normal routine, but he hadn’t been able to say “no” to a personal request from the Minister of Magic. The notion that Kingsley Shacklebolt trusted old Robert Westbrook over some new whippersnapper made him square his shoulders with pride. Of all the wizards, he had been hand-picked to guard Lucius Malfoy.

"Bloody Lucius Malfoy," the aged Auror muttered as he looked at the handle to the door. It was about time the man got brought in, and this time there would be no Dark Lord to save his neck. Westbrook remembered the first wizarding war like it was yesterday, and he remembered Lucius’ first trial with that rubbish defense about the Imperious curse. He scowled at the door handle and felt a surge of temptation. It would be so easy to make the problem go away… He could go in there and just do away with old Lucius. It would be doing the world a favor! Then Shacklebolt could save his energy for rounding up the last of the Malfoys along with their Death Eater friends, and maybe the world could finally move on from the war.

Westbrook's fingers traced the shape of the door handle and began to tighten just as he heard the lift doors clang shut. "Oh now what the bloody hell does Katsarakis want?" His fingers released the handle as he strode down the corridor toward the elevator lift. Quickly rounding the corner, he collided with another body. "Merlin's Beard, Kat, how many bloody times…" his words trailed off as he got his first good look at the person that he had run into.

"I'm sorry," the stranger said as he extended his hand. "I seem to have gotten lost on the elevator."

"I'd say too bloody right, mate," Westbrook said as he backed away from the odd-sounding stranger. "You're lost, or I need a good pint."

The stranger smiled with his hazel eyes, as his voice rang in Westbrook's ears. His mind quickly tried to place the portion of the States where this person was from. 

"How the ruddy hell did you get here?" Westbrook asked as his right hand slowly grazed the edge of his wand. His eyes followed those of the stranger as the tall man stepped back and raised his hand in apology. 

Westbrook drew his wand but did not point it at the strange man, as he wracked his brains for a reason the man might be here. He raised his left hand, "First off, no one is allowed beyond this point except for the Minister of Magic and any Unspeakables. And you mate, are neither. Second, how did you get past the other Aurors, especially the one at the security desk in the atrium?"

“You mean the gentleman asleep at the desk? I didn’t have the heart to wake ‘im. Now if you could just point me in the right direction, I’d be ever so much obliged. I’m lookin’ fer the office of the DIMC…” 

A low growl escaped Westbrook's throat as he glanced past the stranger's shoulder and looked at the elevator lift doors. He wanted to be rid of this strange talking person and to give Katsarakis a thorough flogging for allowing this person to pass by. "Damn, newbie," he muttered, picturing Katsarakis drooling on the sleeve of his newly -acquired Ministry uniform. 

"Alright, shut up! Here's what we are going to do, mate." He raised his wand at the stranger and flicked it toward the elevator lift doors. "You are going to go back down the lift and have the auror down there escort you out of the Ministry. Either you do that, or I will do it myself. You understand, mate?"

The stranger leaned to the left, his eyes focused not on Westbrook or the wand he was pointing, but on the door behind him. "Alright now, let's move it," he said prodding the man's chest with the tip of the wand. 

What happened next seemed to come in slow motion. He saw the stranger grab his right wrist, twisting it, and causing a starburst of pain to flash before his eyes. A large hand gripped the side of his face with unbelievable strength, forcing his head to smash into something hard. He heard the thud and saw black spots flash into his vision as his body fell backwards onto the floor. 

The stranger squatted, bent close to him, and spoke in the same maddening drawl. “First rule of having a wand-- never draw it unless you plan on using it.” Westbrook’s last vision was that of the strange man pointing a wand at his face before a black unconsciousness caused him to remember nothing more.

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

“Closet.” Draco muttered as he looked down the hallway, making sure that Harry hadn't been awakened by the slight noises that he had made as he searched the dresser. He then turned his attention to the closet door. Quickly, he turned the knob, opened the door, and was greeted with a number of shirts, pants, and long sleeved garments. 

“This is all Muggle attire,” Draco whispered to himself as he looked through the shirts that hung upon the wire hangers. “Where did he get that wizard’s robe from?” Draco finished looking through the shirts, noting the bright colors and names on some of the shirts. He looked at one in particular that had a scripted “A” in red lettering, followed by three words. “Alabama Crimson Tide?” Draco muttered to himself. “What the…?” Draco’s eyebrow arched as he racked his mind regarding any information about these strange words. “Crimson Tide?” Draco shook his head as he placed the shirt back and continued on. “Bloody Muggles and their ridiculous names!” Draco scoffed as he pushed through the pants, noting that each pair looked identical, except for the color. “Blue and black.” 

He pushed on through the pants and now scanned through the large winter coats and jackets. “More of this Muggle nonsense. Another Crimson Tide thing on this coat,” Draco said, pushing aside the red jacket. His hands found a blue coat with a red, yellow, and blue bird grinning stupidly on the front of it followed by two words under the animal. “Kansas Jayhawks.” Draco’s nose wrinkled at the sound of the words. “What the hell is a jayhawk?" Draco questioned as he held the jacket at arm's length, taking in the sight of the bird. "Whatever it is, the thing looks uglier than a hippogriff!" Hanging the jacket back in place, he finished going through all of the clothes that were hung on the metal rack and then stepped back to scan the floor. On the floor beneath the hanging garments were several sets of shoes. Draco noted the difference in the shoes as two pairs of them were white, while others looked like the boots. “There has to be something in here!" Draco huffed as he stood in front of the closet, glaring in frustration. 

He paused, leaning against the door jam and pondering exactly what it was he was looking for. He hadn't quite expected a literal skeleton in the closet, or even jarred body parts, but no one could be as strange as Janus and not have something more to hide than an obsession with folding laundry. There should at least be some dark magic books-- where else would he learn those bloody awful “warding” spells that kept them trapped here?-- or maybe a journal filled with lurid confessions. The absence of information was more maddening than any of the particular things Draco could dream up. 

He began to rifle through the clothes once again pushing them down the rack, and swearing more with each item. He was about to push past the large “Jawhawk” jacket once again when something behind the item caught his attention. Draco separated the clothes far enough so that he could peer into the back of the closet. Something metallic reflected the light from the bedroom. Eager to see more, he took several jackets down and tossed them onto the bed, leaving the rear wall of the closet bare.

Focusing on the area, Draco spotted what he thought he had seen. “Gotcha.” Draco grinned as he placed his fingers on the brass door knob, and turned it to see if the door was locked. The knob slid to the right as Draco pushed forward, opening the small door. “A secret passage.” Draco’s lips spread into a much larger grin, as a malicious twinkle danced in his eyes. “Clever. But not clever enough for me.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Lucius Malfoy sat on the large stone step in the middle of the circular room, struggling to focus his eyes in the near-darkness. He knew where he was by the arch-shaped veil that hung to his left. He remembered the fight that had occurred in this room as he had tried to retrieve the prophecy for the Dark Lord. He recalled seeing Sirius Black fall back into the veil after being hit with a killing curse. Thinking of the killing curse, part of his mind longed for his wand, while another part of it drifted into another memory.

The final thing that Lucius could remember before waking here was the rage that he felt as he raised his wand at Draco, the uncontrollable urge, inside of him to say the two words that would end Draco's abomination forever and cleanse the Malfoy family name. Yet, what he heard instead was a high-pitched scream of his name, followed by what appeared to be Narcissa cursing him before he hit something hard and lost consciousness.

He pulled on the manacles that bound his wrists and feet. The chains had just enough slack that he could walk with tiny, shuffling steps. Standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the veil, he was unable to raise a foot and put it on the next stair. Perhaps he could ascend if he were to crawl like a worm, but then they would laugh at him from the other side.

On a daily basis, Unspeakables had come into the room, under the guard of aurors, and given him food and water. He patiently waited, knowing that soon Kingsley Shacklebolt would have to come into the room, as the trial date neared. 

Like fingers probing an open wound, his thoughts dwelled on Kingsley, then Narcissa, and finally Draco’s betrayal. His imagination tortured him with images conjured from Draco’s confession. 

He had his hands in my pants, and I couldn’t keep my hands off him…He’s willing to do anything for me…

The thought made Lucius wretch as he fell to his knees and dry heaved onto the hard surface. As his diaphragm contracted for the final time, spewing forth the dregs of acrid bile from his stomach, he heard the door unlock somewhere above in the darkness. 

As quickly as the tight manacles would allow, Lucius gathered himself back on the large stone perch and awaited his guest. Silhouetted against the light from behind the doorway was a stranger shrouded in a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. The person descended towards Lucius, the sound of his footfalls echoing off the stone and into the quiet of the chamber.

"Time for my sponge bath, is it?" Lucius sneered into the darkness. The only answer was the sound of the footsteps, which grew louder and closer together. 

"Kingsley?" Lucius called. The footsteps stopped briefly before resuming their steady march downward. "No, it wouldn't be him. Potter? Yes, it's about right for you to try and intimidate me like that."

The footsteps stopped. Lucius could hear the faint sound of breathing to his right. "Whoever you are, I am not afraid of you. You cannot scare me, Lucius Malfoy!" Lucius shouted into the darkness as a faint smell of dirt and old clothes reached his nose. "Show yourself!"

"If you insist." The strange, deep voice came from the darkness. "Lumos Maxima."

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Draco lowered his head, ducking through the small door frame and peering into complete blackness. “Hmm. There’s got to be a light switch around here somewhere,” Draco whispered as his left hand felt inside the black space. What his fingers were touching told Draco that it was a rough, wood-like surface, before his hand grazed something smooth. “There it is,” he said as his finger flipped the switch up. Hanging above, Draco saw a faint flicker of light as the light bulb charged to life, casting a dim glow. Below this, Draco could now see a set of wooden stairs that led down. 

He carefully stepped down each creaky stair until he came to a wooden landing that had three steps going to the left. A wire strung with more dim, dangling bulbs hung from the ceiling of the cellar. The bulbs illuminated the room with overlapping pools of light, leaving patches of darkness that gave the room a spooky look. Draco looked around, expecting the floor to be nothing but dirt, but was surprised to see that it was gray and solid. He stepped down onto it and walked around the room. 

A large, black cauldron sat in the middle of room. The harsh, putrid smell was stronger down here, and though the whole room reeked of it, the scent seemed to be wafting from the cauldron. Draco stepped toward it and traced his finger around the inside lip of it. He brought his finger into the light and examined the color of the residue before wiping it away on his pants. Draco noticed several small vents near the top of one wall and glanced back at the cauldron before looking at the closed vents. Draco nodded, as if completing an answer to himself, before walking over to the wide slate bench-top along the north wall of the room. 

The bench-top had a small burner with tubing attached to a valve in the wall. Above the burner was a round bottomed flask the size of Draco's head. A glass tube connected to the neck of the flask and slanted downward. Inside the glass tube was another tube, this one crafted in a delicate spiral that wound its way from an opening at the bottom of the tube to one at the top. Both openings had rubber tubes coming off them. One of the tubes connected to a water faucet, and the other drained into a sink. Vapors coming from the round bottom flask would pass through the tube, be cooled by the water in the glass spiral, and drip into the tall, flat-bottomed vessel at the end. Metal scaffolding and several clamps held all of the glass in place, and though the apparatus wasn't in use at the moment, a residue of oily brown goo coated the round bottom flask. 

“Interesting,” Draco murmured. He considered trying to remove the flask to smell the liquid, but decided against it. One mistake could send the entire apparatus crashing down. Just thinking about such an accident made him look over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Janus watching him. 

On the other side of the room was a wooden table and chair. Several potion flasks and vials lined the table, each of them neatly placed into a storage container. Carefully, he picked up one of the small vials and held it up to the dim light. Pulling the stopper out of the vial, Draco sniffed the contents, and almost vomited. “Ugh! That smells horrible!” He gagged as he placed the stopper back, and returned the vial to its location. 

Draco noticed a shelf above the different vials and flasks. He scanned the different books, whispering the titles out loud. “Advanced Book of Magic and Spells, Nighttime Potions and Rituals, The Dream Book, The Book of Shadows, Black Magic and its Ceremonial Meaning?” Draco stopped naming the books aloud. Finally, after finishing the rest of the titles to himself Draco sat in the chair and gazed up at the row of books. “Where did he get these books? Father never spoke about any of these books before.” Curious, he reached up and selected, The Book of Shadows. Draco scanned and flipped through the chapters of the book, reading the captions of the pictures, and other times reading through portions of each chapter. 

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

A large ball of light ignited from the end of the wand, expanding in all directions and giving the darkened chamber a humble and soft glow.

"Ah, so this is it!" The stranger said as he walked around the veil, the tails of his rumpled coat streaming behind him. He waved his fingers near the fabric of the veil. "Death's a bitch, wouldn't you agree, Lucius?" The man’s colonial accent grated on Lucius’ ears.

Lucius slid further away from the edge of the large stone, trying to keep as much distance as he could between himself and this unknown wizard. 

"You have me at a disadvantage. Are you going to introduce yourself, or do you people lack even the most basic sense of courtesy?" Lucius asked as he stood up, his ankles stinging with pain where the chains cut into his skin. 

The man tilted his head, cupped a hand to his ear and looked at Lucius. "Do you hear them? Do you hear the voices?"

Lucius winced. He tried to wave a hand at the very idea, but the manacles pulled tight, biting his wrist. "I've no idea what you mean!"

"Oh, come off it, Luc," the stranger said as he turned his back to Lucius and spoke to the veil. "Dying is easy. As a matter of fact, it's the easiest thing there is in life." The man turned around pointing a finger at Lucius and then back at the veil. "Learning to live with the death inside of us, that's hard, because each day a tiny piece of us dies, and goes in there." He held his palm flat and blew across it.

"So you came here to lecture me on the facts of death?" Lucius spat. His patience with the madman had run its course. 

"I know you, Lucius…Malfoy!” The man wagged a finger and clicked his tongue. “I know that you have seen death. Just think of all of the poor souls that you have killed or led to their death. All in the name of your little dark lord, too." He leaped across the short space that separated them and stood close to Lucius. Again, he cupped a hand to his ear. "Do you hear him? Do you hear Voldemort, trying to speak to you from the dead? Or do you instead here your dear sister-in-law, Bellatrix? Do they have something to say, or do you only hear their wails of agony from beyond the veil?"

The man walked over to the dais that the veil sat on and leaned against the edge of it, staring back at Lucius. "My name," he began as he extended his hands outward, "is really not important, but you can call me Janus."

"Janus?" Lucius repeated as he slowly recoiled and sat on his own stone. "What business brings you here?" 

Janus pointed over his shoulder at the veil. “You never answered my question. "Do you hear them?" 

Lucius shook his head. "No. I am beyond such hysterics." 

Janus faintly smiled as he walked over toward Lucius, shaking his head. "You're lying, Luc, and I know it." He turned back toward the veil. "Oh sure, you’re an Occlumens. That makes life... more interesting for me, but it doesn’t mean that you can lie to me and get away with it."

He softly placed his hands on the stone and leaned forward, his bloodshot hazel eyes meeting Lucius’. "The truth lives in the eyes. There is no hiding place within them." Janus raised his left hand and brushed a lock of hair away from Lucius’ face. His fingers clasped around Lucius’ chin, tilting it downward and holding it in place so that Lucius had to squeeze his eyes closed in order to avoid the strangely hypnotic stare of those red-veined orbs. "And right now, your eyes are telling me everything that I need," he said as he released Lucius and backed away from the stone.

\-----------------------------------------

After a period of time he would close the book that he was reading and toss it to the side of the table, before reaching for another book and doing the same. Finally, after his eyes had started to ache from the reading, Draco looked past the stacked books on the table and saw a large wooden chest sitting in the far corner of the room. The chest looked exactly like many chests that he had seen at Hogwarts. “Now, I’ll find out what secrets are hidden.”

Draco crossed the room, excited. Examining the front of the chest, Draco saw that it was not locked. “Perfect,” Draco sneered as lifted and dragged the chest across the room, noting the weight as he did so. He dropped the chest as it landed with a loud thud on the solid gray floor. Realizing his error, Draco quickly surveyed the wooden beams above, listening for any sign that he had awakened Harry with his blunder. Each tense second that followed seemed like a minute to Draco as he held his breath, straining his ears to catch the faintest of sounds from above. Once his fear had been relieved, Draco opened the chest and gazed at the contents inside. 

The first item that he took out was a light blue and white blanket. Draco turned the blanket over in his hands examining every inch of it before he remembered seeing Teddy in a similar blanket. Thinking of Janus as a baby was almost worse than imagining him in those frumpy white briefs. Feeling slightly uneasy at holding such a delicate and innocent item, Draco laid the baby blanket over the stack of books and continued searching through the chest.

He extracted several picture frames from the chest, each of them lined by a brown exterior frame. Like the other pictures that Draco had seen in the bedroom, these pictures did not move. He studied them, noting the family within each one. “This must be Janus, and his parents.” The tall man with black, curly hair, stood next to a slender, and attractive woman, who had long flowing brown hair. Sitting atop the man’s shoulders was a small child who had brown hair and hazel eyes. Draco noticed the background of the photo, which consisted of heavily forested mountains. A small part of his mind registered how beautifully lush and green the mountainside looked. Also this part of his mind saw the happiness of the family within the photograph. He placed the photograph beside the table and examined a different picture. Within this one, a silver-haired man and woman stood in the photograph, along with a young boy. “His grandparents,” Draco softly said.

Draco browsed through more pictures, each of them showing a moment from Janus’ childhood; birthday pictures, Christmas pictures, pictures of Janus outside under a large tree, baby pictures of Janus as a newborn being cradled by his mother. Tiring of looking at the pictures, Draco leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Who are you?” Draco growled through gritted teeth and massaged his temples. “I need to know more about you than just ridiculous baby pictures.” He looked into the chest again and saw a blur of gray scattered below the brown picture frames. 

Draco whispered to himself as he pushed the pictures aside to reveal a gray covered book that had the words ‘Carpe Diem’, written on the front. He opened the book, finding a white envelope which he opened and read. 

James,  
Your grandfather and I are so proud of you. Your accomplishments have made us both so proud. We love you with all of our hearts, and never forget who you are. We wish you the best in life.

Our fondest love,  
Grandma & Grandpa

\--------------------------------------

"You filthy deviant! If I had my wand right now--" 

"Save it, Lucius. I'm not some simple Ministry wizard or a little kid that you can bully around. Your threats mean absolutely nothing to me, so save your breath. If I wanted to right now I could kill you, and walk out of this place without anybody ever knowing what happened."

Anger flashed into Lucius' eyes. "Why don't you go ahead and do it? It is why you are here? Save your own breath and see what it feels like to kill! See what it is like to watch death come and take someone away!"

“Been there. Done that.” Janus let out a long sigh as he waved his hand at Lucius. "Geez, just like D--just like your usual Death Eater's. Always jumping to conclusions before they hear everything."

"How dare you!" Lucius spat. His hands shook with anger, jingling the links of the manacles.

"Great spooky sound effect there, Luc," Janus rolled his eyes. "Listen, I came here because I think that you and I might be able to do some business together." 

Lucius' eyebrow twitched upward. "Oh, and how is that, exactly? The better question is, why would I care to do business with the likes of you?” 

As Janus crept around the stone, the light gleamed in his bloodshot hazel eyes, making strange dark patterns that sent a shiver down Lucius’ spine. “Because I can give you what you want most. Otherwise, you are facing the dementor’s kiss, and leaving all that unfinished business behind you.”

Lucius’ lips curled into a mixture of a sneer and a grin. “Go on. You have my attention.”

Janus reached into the inside pocket of his duster and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he slowly unfolded and held in front of Lucius’ face. “I can give you that,” he said, tapping the top of the paper with his finger. “All I ask in return is information about someone.” He dropped the paper, and Lucius caught it as it drifted toward the floor.

Lucius held the clipping in his chained hands and stared at the picture. His knuckles whitened as he clenched the paper. The sight of that face brought on a fresh wave of emotion-- nostalgia, disappointment, shame, and rage. He closed his eyes until the worst of the feelings had passed. “How do I know that you mean what you say?” 

“You don’t.” Janus shrugged. “A better question is-- what do you have to lose, anyway?”

Lucius looked up from the picture, staring at Janus through long, silver strands of hair. “What information do you seek?” 

“Do you accept my offer?”

“Not yet. First, I want to know all of the details before we settle on an agreement.”

Janus stroked his thumb under his chin. “Alright, I am looking for a man named Phillipe Moreaux,” he stated staring down into Lucius’ eyes.

Lucius snorted. “Moreaux, Moreaux… How I tire of that name! What is it about this man that everyone is concerned about?”

“Well to begin with, he is not where he is supposed to be, inside Nurmengard. Now, to me, that clearly points the finger back at a select few people. Care to answer the question, Luc? Where is Phillipe Moreaux?”

“Dead, as far as I know!” Lucius hissed. 

“Ah, remember Lucius, I know when you are lying to me,” Janus smiled as he waved a finger toward Lucius. “I know that he is alive. You see, your name and his have been connected together.”

“Heresay.” Lucius moistened his lips in contempt. “Do you believe everything you hear?”

Janus grinned. “You’re lying again. Look, I really could care less what your personal ambitions are, but you should know what kind of a person Moreaux is. If he were here, do you think he’d bat an eye at selling you out? He and his little merry band of murderers were too much, even by Voldemort’s standards. I always wondered why Voldy stopped at kicking Moreaux out of the Death Eaters. Chalk it up to a short attention span, I guess, or the fact that old Tom had more important unfinished business.” 

“And what’s your business with Moreaux, Janus? Why do you need him so badly?” 

“You have your own reasons Lucius, and I have mine. We can help each other.”

Lucius stared back at the clipping from the Daily Prophet. “Draco… How do I know you can deliver him to me? Anyone could say that.” 

“Anyone else would be lying.” Janus reached into his coat again and pulled out a second wand, jerking it away when Lucius lunged for it. “Ah-ah! Look, but don’t touch. Hawthorn, if I’m not mistaken, all ten inches of it. Look familiar to you?”

“How did you get that?” Lucius snarled.

“Handed over by Draco’s own free will.” Janus put the wand away and raised his right hand with his middle finger crossed over his index finger. “Me and Draco-- we’re like this! He goes where I say he goes, does what I want him to…it’s a very convenient arrangement.”

“Then you have him ensorcelled!” Lucius snarled. “That little miscreant obeys no one. You must have used the Imperious curse.”

“Something like that, yes. The question is, ‘How badly do you really want him?’” Janus rounded the veil once again, stretching his fingers out, letting the tips narrowly touch the fabric. “Or would you rather he continue his little love affair with Potter? I wouldn’t care, personally, but you… You’ve got your pride to think about! Your legacy! If the Malfoy name dies with you, it goes down in a blaze of glory. 

Lucius Malfoy--crusader for the sanctity of pure blood, martyr for the cause of all that’s good and right--or is it all that’s evil and right?” Janus put his chin under his fist and knit his eyebrows in mock confusion. “I don’t keep track of these things, you see.

Now, on the other hand, if Draco carries on the family name, he does so as Harry Potter’s lov--, I mean his boy--, his ‘special friend’.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Lucius shouted. He raised both fists and swung them hard at Janus, but the man evaded him with a few quick steps backwards. Lucius pursued, but tripped over his own shackled feet and fell to his knees.

Janus reached out a hand to help him up, and then shrugged when he ignored it. “Maybe you’re right. ‘Former Death Eater involved with Boy Who Lived’… That’s not the kind of headline you’d see in the Daily Prophet, is it? No one wants to read that kind of smut. Although a fine journalist like Rita Skeeter would love a few juicy, snippets of inside info.”

“Enough! You drive a very hard bargain, Janus,” Lucius muttered as his hands shook. 

“I don’t make the rules, Luc, I just bend them. Tell you what I’ll do. I can see that you need a bit of time to think things over. However, be aware that time is not on your side. If you still accept my offer I’ll be in touch.”

“And if I do accept your offer, just how am I supposed to get in touch with you?” Lucius asked raising his chained hands upward. 

Janus smiled and he walked toward the long row of stone steps to leave. “You’re Lucius Malfoy,” Janus said emphasizing both names. “You can figure that one out.” 

“Who exactly are you, other than this name, Janus?” Lucius asked as Janus stepped up onto the first step. 

“Today, Lucius, I am your angel in disguise. Just remember that.” He waved his wand, and the lights faded leaving Lucius alone in the darkness, holding the Daily Prophet photo of Draco.

\--------------------------------------------

“Never forget who you are?” Draco repeated as he stuffed the folded letter back inside the envelope. He began turning the pages of the book and then turned them back when he noticed handwriting on the inside cover. Several people had scrawled messages. Many of them repeated what other entries had said about “having a great time in school,” and “how quickly the school year had passed by.” Some people had written about “what a good friend James was,” and “how smart and intelligent he was.” 

"James…James?" Draco repeated as he looked at the book once more. "I knew it all along; Janus is a thief!" Draco nodded his head in approval. "Bloody laundry-folding book thief!" Draco continued to read the other entries before a certain one caught his attention more than the others. “James,” Draco began whispering it aloud to himself. “It’s been fun. You’re a good friend, but too quiet. I bet I read about you and Dovie in the papers in a couple of years when you kill someone. But, stay nice and you might be lucky enough to make it through life. Your friend, Bikia.” 

None of the messages appeared to be from Janus, Draco observed. He began flipping through the book, which had page after page of still pictures showing vacuous-looking teenagers with stupid Muggle hair styles and clothes. Next to each row of faces was a list of names. Draco continued to scan each page, looking for Janus. 

“He couldn’t have changed that much,” Draco whispered as his finger guided down the list on the page. “After all he’s not that old, and these people look to be around my age.” He flipped through several more pages before coming to a halt when a smug, familiar face stared out of the page at him. 

The picture was that of a young teenage boy, approximately seventeen years of age. Sandy brown hair fell to the top of the teenager’s eyes and hung down almost to his ears. His eyes were masked behind a pair of thick glasses, however Draco noted that they were definitely hazel in color. He studied the face, in particular how the cheekbones seemed to sit high upon the face and the jawbones came down to a point on the chin. “It's him, looking like an idiot with those glasses. Just like Potter." What Draco saw next confirmed his guess. The young teenager in the picture wore a red shirt with a white scripted, “A”, and the words “Crimson Tide.” 

Gleefully, Draco scanned the list of names, expecting to learn Janus' surname. Supposedly, the names were listed in order from the leftmost picture to the right. However, although Janus' picture was on the far left of the page, the name at the top of the list for his row was James Ward. 

“James Ward,” Draco murmured to himself. “Not a book thief-- a liar!”

“Found you! Draco sneered. “Now what else can I find out about you in this book.” He flipped through every page, reading every caption under each picture, as his mind repeated the name over and over. 

“President of the student council.” Draco read from the page. “Mu Alpha Theta.” He turned the page and saw a large photo of James Ward dressed in a blood-red gown and matching cap with a white and red tassel hanging to one side. “Most likely to succeed.” Draco read the words under the picture as many thoughts and ideas circled through his brain. 

"Succeed at what? Murder? Why did you change your name?" Draco whispered as he closed the book and tossed it onto the table. "What caused you to be like this?" He drummed his fingers on the table as he glared into the shadowy chest again. Draco dragged it closer to the light, and kneeled down on the floor. He emptied out the remaining pictures that were in the chest and found a red and white coat at the bottom of the chest. He held the coat up at arm's length from his body, looking at the large, red "M" that was sewn on the coat. 

"I wonder?" Draco questioned aloud as he searched the exterior pockets, and finding nothing in them. A frustrated grunt escaped his throat as he flung the jacket against his body, disregarding any thoughts of how old the jacket may have been or who had worn it. He slammed his fingers into the interior chest pocket and was relieved to feel some kind of folded parchment. He withdrew his hand, bringing out two separate items. 

He gazed at the folded paper items, turning them over in his fingers. "They look like some kind of newspaper clippings," Draco murmured unfolding the first clipping. He sat back in the chair, and opened the clipping full and read the headline. "Tourist family murdered." His eyes narrowed as he read the article. 

Southampton authorities are baffled by the discovery of two murdered tourists. The couple's seven year old son was the lone survivor of the grisly ordeal. The young boy was taken to an undisclosed hospital where his injuries will be treated. It is not known at this time if his injuries are life-threatening. Authorities have no leads at this time, and police are withholding all information regarding the family until their next of kin can be located within the United States. The American Embassy, located in London, is launching a full investigation into the case.

"So this must be his 'accident'," Draco said as he read the newspaper clipping once more. He unfolded the other clipping and read the short article.

Sole Survivor Disappears From Hospital  
Hospital and police officials are puzzled by the disappearance of the seven year old boy that survived the Southampton murders. The boy's parents were killed last week while they camped in the national park, located just outside of Southampton. Authorities are asking all citizens if you see or have any information regarding the disappearance of James Ward, to please contact the Southampton police department. 

"So what exactly caused you to change your identity and become Janus?" Draco folded the clippings and placed them back into the jacket pocket. He tossed the jacket aside as his attention was diverted back into the chest. Pulling out the tie and scarf, Draco scoffed. "I knew he couldn't have been in Slytherin," he said as he flipped the blue and bronze tie and scarf in his hands. "Ravenclaw." Draco's upper lip curled into a defined sneer and his eyebrow arched. "The filthy lot. Just as bad as Gryffindors." 

He kneeled down toward the chest to drop the tie and scarf back into it when a low growl came from the darkness of the room. Draco's back stiffened and his eyes widened as the growl became louder. His hands rested on the edge of the open chest, clutching the Ravenclaw scarf. A blood-curdling cry echoed through the room as the sound rushed toward Draco. Socrates jumped on top of the chest lid so that for a few precious seconds he and Draco were nose to nose.

"You bloody--" Draco began before the pain rushed through his body, and registered in his brain. The chest lid had fallen forward, crashing down upon Draco's fingers. The large Siamese hissed and scatted away from the chest as Draco yelled and swore at the cat. Reacting instinctively, he pulled his stinging fingers away from the trunk, dropping the Ravenclaw clothing, and ripping small bits of skin away from his fingers, as he cradled his bleeding hands to his chest. 

Anger danced in his eyes as he scanned the room for any traces of the cat. Painfully, he grasped one of the books to use as a weapon against Socrates, as he circled around the room. "Come here, kitty, kitty. So I can beat you to death with this book! If I get a hold of you, you won't have any 'nine lives' left!" The cat hissed loudly as it jumped on top of the bench-top. Draco heaved the book with all of his strength, and watched as it crashed through the apparatus on the slate bench-top. The metal scaffolding teetered, rocking several times before it fell, carrying the glassware with it and making a spectacular noise. Shards flew in all directions, and the odor of whatever had been in the flask made Draco wretch. 

Socrates ran past the large cauldron as Draco's foot just missed connecting with the cat's head. "I'll kill you, cat!" Draco screamed as he turned the cauldron over, causing the little bit of potion that was left in it to spill onto the floor. The cat raced away from Draco as he swung wildly with his fist, missing the cat. Furious, he reached for the wooden chair, knocking over the small wooden table in the process. Vials cascaded to the floor, shattering. A choking purple haze rose from the spreading puddle of whatever it was Janus had been collecting. "You're dead, cat!" Draco screamed, swinging the chair as he saw the back legs and tail of the Siamese dash up the stairs. "When I catch you I'll--"

"You'll do what?" Janus' voice boomed from above as he walked down the wooden steps, and surveyed the destruction of the cellar room. Through the dim lighting of the room, Draco could see and even feel the anger emanating from Janus as he came into the room. Draco watched as his gaze went from the cauldron, to the table, to the bench-top, and over to the chest, before settling on Draco's face. 

Janus stood at the bottom of the stairs, his hands balled into fists, his arms quivering with rage. Draco began to move toward the stairs before a strong hand viciously dug into his collarbone and lifted him toward the wooden steps. Draco winced as bright flashes of pain sparkled before him in the dim light while he scrambled to break free. "Let go of me, damn it!" Draco yelled as Janus changed his grip on Draco's shoulder to haul him through the small closet door. Janus flung Draco across the corner of the bed, causing the Slytherin to crash shoulder first into the dresser. 

“Alright-- I'm going!” Draco held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Take me back to the Weasleys', turn me in to the Ministry, I don't care! Just--”

Janus lunged again, clamping one hand over Draco's mouth while the other pinched Draco's left ear in a vice-like grip. He tugged hard on the ear until Draco began moving forward, terrified of where Janus was leading him--to the kitchen, maybe, where there were sharp knives, or to the bathroom, where Janus could drown him and then call it an accident and tell Harry how sorry he was. 

His strong grip dragged Draco out of the bedroom and into the hallway while Draco kicked and tried in vain to scream. Janus' hand muffled all of his obscenities, and the fingers clamped on his jaw prevented him from opening his mouth enough to bite. Finally, they reached the door to the spare bedroom. Janus bent down and brought his mouth close to Draco's right ear. “One way or another, Malfoy, after what you done this time, I'm through with you.”


	30. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here is chapter 30! Quite a fascinating chapter. So we are sure that everyone will enjoy it very much. Again, as always, our thanks to you, the readers, who take the time to sit down and read our story. We always welcome comments, and reviews. Or if you want to drop an e-mail simply saying hello, we welcome that as well.
> 
> WARNING!
> 
> One last note before you get to reading the chapter. This chapter does contain scenes of homosexual sexuality. If you don't like this, or find this act to be offensive, then we recommend that you skip the scenes.
> 
> Other than the one warning, we say have fun, and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 30: Broken

 

A loud crash jolted Harry from some dark, tangled dream. His heart raced, adrenaline purging all traces of sleep from his body. He registered the sight of Draco sprawled on the floor, scrambling to get to his hands and knees. Janus stood silhouetted in the doorway for a brief moment before slamming the door closed. 

 

Avoiding the broken glass, Harry fumbled for the light switch as Draco struggled to his feet. The light snapped on to show Draco pulling a shard from his cheek. His eyes shone with the beginnings of tears, and his hands bled from innumerable tiny cuts. He made a motion to dust off his robe and winced as even more shards dug into his hands. 

 

“Are you still going to defend him?” Draco displayed his bleeding palms. 

 

“That depends. What did you do?”

 

“Nothing! I was only... exploring. Janus didn't like that I found his secret dungeon, and then the bloody cat made me break all of the glassware, and then-- what exactly is it you find funny?” Draco lunged for Harry but stopped to howl in pain as a piece of mirror cut into his foot. 

 

Harry forced his face into a neutral expression. “Secret dungeons and sinister cats. Are you sure you didn't break into Janus' stash of firewhiskey?” 

 

“He doesn't drink firewhiskey. That would be too bloody normal for Janus!” Draco balanced on his left foot as he pulled a shard from the sole of his right. “He drinks... something vile. I know the smell of it from Snape's room, but I can't quite place it. He has bottles and bottles, er had bottles and bottles of it. He's been brewing it in a cellar. 

 

“And he lied to us about his name! There were pictures in a trunk. Pictures of him with the name James Ward. That's when the bloody cat startled me, and then he came home...” Draco shuddered. All the usual contempt had gone out of his voice. “I don't know who he is... I don't know what he is, but we have to get out of here.” 

 

“When he put you in here, he didn't know the mirror was broken.” Harry said gently. “He might have been afraid you would hurt yourself--” 

 

“You're not listening! He's insane, and his eyes, they change... He's stronger than he looks, stronger than he should be! He hauled me up the stairs like I was a child, and he said...” Draco frowned, and his voice dropped with his next words, which were spoken in an imitation of Janus' accent. “'One way or another, Malfoy, after what you done this time, I'm through with you.'”

 

Harry turned the words over in his mind, imagining them coming from Janus as the man's eyes grew preternaturally dark. Even in his mind, the effect was chilling. “I won't let him hurt you,” Harry promised. “He'd have to go through me first, and he wouldn't--” 

 

“You don't know that! And in case you hadn't noticed, I'm already hurt!” 

 

“I noticed.” Harry sighed. He considered using magic to clean up the glass and heal Draco's cuts, but that would only make Janus angrier. Instead, he picked up Draco's dirty clothes from the corner and laid them over the broken glass. “Walk on this,” he instructed. “Get away from the glass.” 

 

“Like I need to be told...” Draco muttered, taking a step forward. 

 

“Wait! You have bits of glass in your clothes, too.” Harry pointed to the glittery dusting that peppered Draco's robe. 

 

“Bloody stupid Janus and his damned cat!” Draco groaned angrily, lifted his robe over his head, and threw it down. “I'll bet you love this, Potter.” After stepping away from the glass, he turned in a slow circle, wearing only a pair of dark green satin shorts. “It's what you've been wanting, isn't it?” 

 

Harry sighed, raised his hand to his face, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose a few times, trying to dispel the nearly-constant headache that had been with him since Draco had shown up on his doorstep. When he opened his eyes again, Draco had stepped closer to him, almost as close as they had been in the store washroom. 

 

“Do that again,” Harry said. “Turn around.” 

 

“Why? Didn't get a good enough look at my arse the first time?” 

 

“I-- no! I mean, yes, er--” Harry flushed. “You have a piece of glass stuck in the back of your neck.” Since Draco remained fixed in place, Harry rested his forearms on Draco's shoulders and fumbled for the piece of glass with his fingers. When Harry pulled the shard free, Draco's muscles tensed, and he swore under his breath. 

 

“See?” Harry stepped back and held up the shard. 

 

Draco snatched it out of his hand and threw it onto the floor with the rest. He didn't watch the shard skitter across the floor but instead kept his eyes fixed on Harry, who was suddenly aware of the fact that, like Draco, he wore only a pair of boxer shorts. Draco's face was twisted with some unreadable emotion. His lips curled into something like his usual sneer, but his eyebrows were drawn together, and his eyes locked with Harry's. 

 

“I thought you were sleeping out there--” Harry began, waving a hand toward the door. “Or I would have worn something else--” 

 

Draco snorted. “Don't. I've seen you staring at me, Potter. I can practically feel your filthy eyes burning through my bloody clothes, so fine-- here's what you've been wanting!” He stepped out of the shorts, raised his arms and let them fall back to his sides. 

 

“Draco...” Harry began, not sure what he was expected to say or do. In spite of Draco's angry sarcasm, he appeared to enjoy showing himself to Harry. 

 

“I can't stand it anymore!” Draco continued, taking a step closer so that they were nearly toe-to-toe. “I can't stand the way you have to be close to me all the time, the way you 'accidently' brush against me, the way you look at me, the dirty way you say my bloody name, I can't stand it! That's the worst part of it all, Potter. Not Janus, not his damned cat, not Moreaux, and not even the fact that I might be going to Azkaban. It's you-- things you make me-- the thoughts you put in my head! You're the worst thing, Potter, and I can't bloody stand it any more!” 

 

Harry opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Draco's face crashed into his, their lips smashed together like the bumpers of two unfortunate cars. The pain of the collision left him reeling, but it quickly faded, and when Draco put his hands on Harry's hips, it was forgotten. Draco's mouth began to move against his, and he tasted blood, hot and metallic. He wondered if it was his or Draco's, and the intimacy of that thought excited him. Draco's hands moved up his sides and onto the back of his head, and Draco's lips slid across his cheek until they brushed his ear. 

 

“Is this what you want?” Draco hissed. 

 

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and squeezed. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

 

“Then let's bloody get it over with!” Draco growled. 

 

The next few minutes flew by in a blur. Draco freed himself from Harry by shaking like an animal, took Harry by the shoulders, spun him around, and used a foot to sweep Harry's feet from under him, forcing Harry to catch himself by throwing his hands in front of him. He landed with his palms on the floor and his legs stretched awkwardly behind him. One of the pieces of mirror dug into his hand, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. Any noise would bring Janus, and Harry couldn't let that happen, couldn't let Janus see him like this. Draco was on him, and it was nothing like any of Harry's daydreams. The actual act was nasty, brutish, and short, and when he had finished, Draco ran out of the room, leaving Harry to pull up his shorts and stumble to his feet, dazed.

 

Skirting the glass, Harry left the room, not sure where he would go, but unable to stay in the bedroom a moment longer. From the bathroom, Harry heard the unmistakable, but puzzling, sound of sobbing followed by the roar of the shower. The sussurance of the water continued for several minutes. As if Draco's recent actions hadn't been humiliating enough, he had to add insult to injury by using up all of the available heated water. Harry sat up in the edge of the couch, rested his elbows on his knees, and placed his chin on his fists. His mind raced in circles, trying to figure out exactly what had just happened and why. 

 

Before he found a satisfactory answer to that question, Draco emerged from the bathroom, his skin scalded red all over and bleeding in places as if he had scrubbed himself with his fingernails. He had wrapped a towel around his waist, and he walked with his shoulders hunched. With violent, jerky motions, he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Harry couldn't tell if Draco was plagued by tears or residual water from his shower, but he guessed the former. 

 

“Are you going to explain that?” Harry demanded, rising from the couch. 

 

“Explain what?” Draco snapped. Without looking at Harry, he went back into the bedroom, where he dug in the trunk, fished out a clean pair of black shorts, and pulled them on under his towel, careful not to show any of the skin the towel had been covering. When he had pulled on a clean shirt, he let the towel fall to the floor and spun to face Harry. He pointed his index finger at Harry's chest and looked him in the eyes. “That never happened. And it can never happen again!” He lowered his finger and then dabbed at his eyes with the back of his hand again. “You don't understand! I'm not like you!” 

 

“Not. Like. Me” Harry repeated flatly, saying the words slowly, pondering the meaning of each word individually and then trying to puzzle out what they signified when strung together. When he figured out what he thought Draco was trying to imply, he wasn't sure whether to punch him in the face or to laugh at the irony. He heard himself laugh, but decided that didn't rule out violence later. “Not like me? You're the one who bloody attacked me, Draco, not the other way around. I can keep my damn hands to myself!”

 

Draco sneered and shook his head in disgust. “That's not what I meant! Don't be stupid.” He slouched against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “What I meant was your parents are dead! Your godfather is dead, too. Even your precious teacher and mentor, Dumbledore, is dead!”

 

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. That's a perfect ending to a perfect day for me--” 

 

“Let me finish!” Draco shouted. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he crossed the room and stood next to Harry, so close that they were almost touching. His eyes met Harry's, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and high, as if forced through a lump in his throat. “They're all dead, and so you have no one to disappoint. You can do what you want. You can be with who you want. I can't. I have my parents to think about.” 

 

“I see,” Harry muttered, not sure how he felt. He would be an idiot or a masochist or both to want a repeat of tonight, but as he looked at Draco's face, he didn't want this to be the end. Slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would cause Draco to bolt, Harry reached for one of the Slytherin's hands and squeezed it gently. “We--” he stumbled as he said that word, liking the sound of it too much. “We wouldn't have to tell them we're together.” 

 

“They'd find out!” Draco sobbed. 

 

“And what does that matter? Your mother doesn't care--” 

 

“She will! She'll care when she walks into a room and her friends all stop talking, when she can't go out without people pointing and whispering behind her back, not just about Andromeda and Tonks, but about her son. About me.” Draco tapped his own chest forcefully. 

 

Harry felt his hands tremble, and he took a step back, afraid that he might hit Draco. He wanted to scream, but instead he made his voice cold and cruel. “Yeah, like your mother couldn't handle something hard. Not like she's been beaten or tortured or locked in a dungeon by her own husband--” 

 

“My father--”

 

“Your father knows, too! You told him when you were trying to goad him into killing us both, remember?”

 

“That's different!” Draco shook his head. “He knows-- he thinks things happened, but it's not the same as having the whole world know. If you were anyone else, maybe we could keep it a secret, but you're the bloody Boy Who Lived. People would find out, and he would curse you for ruining his name. He'd kill me, Potter. He'd kill you, too, and I cant--” Draco’s voice caught, and he swiped at his eyes again. 

 

“Draco,” Harry crooned, leaning forward and placing his free hand on Draco's shoulder. “He'll be in Azkaban! What can he do?”

 

“Send someone after us, break out and kill us. Don't underestimate him, Potter!” 

 

“Even if he could-- and he can't! -- I wouldn't let him.” Harry cupped Draco's face with his injured hand, ignoring the sting from the cut. 

 

“You couldn't stop him!” Draco snorted and knocked Harry's hands away. “Maybe you don't understand the risk, but I do.” He straightened and ran his eyes over Harry, his mouth curling in contempt. “I know the cost, and now I know exactly what I'm giving up. It's not-- you're not worth the price.” Hastily, he slipped into his shoes and out the front door, slamming it behind him. 

 

“Fine.” Harry started toward the bedroom, remembered the glass, and turned back into the living room. His hands shook. He wanted to go after Draco, but he wasn't sure what he would do if he caught up with him-- maybe grab him and scream in his face about how he was being an idiot, making up reasons for them to be apart. “Just tell the damned truth, Malfoy!” Harry muttered to himself. “If you hate me, say it! That, I could understand. In fact--” 

 

“Lovers' quarrel?” 

 

Harry spun to see Janus standing in the hallway that lead to the kitchen. “No. We're not--” 

 

Janus laughed. “Yeah, right. I heard the door slam. Among other things.” His expression darkened as he stepped toward Harry. He reached out slowly, as if Harry were a wounded animal, and traced Harry's mouth with a finger, which came away smeared with blood. “Did Malfoy hit you?” 

 

Harry shook his head and kept his eyes fixed on the floor, studying the swirling, fingerprint-like patterns of the hardwood. He raised his own hand and probed at his lips, which felt tender and swollen. Still unable to look at Janus, he said, “We kissed.” 

 

“I'm pretty sure you're doing it wrong.” 

 

“It doesn't matter!” Harry spun and faced away from Janus. “It was the last-- it was the only time. And I hated it! I hate him!” 

 

“Harry--” 

 

“No! Don't tell me I'm over-reacting or I'll feel differently when I've had to time to think or... Just don't.” 

 

“I was going to say your hand is cut, too.” Janus caught Harry's wrist and pulled until Harry was forced to turn and face him. “How'd this happen?” 

 

Harry pointed to the floor on the other side of the open bedroom door. His face burned, pulsating with a mixture of shame and anger as he relived being thrown to that floor, the bite of the glass in his hand, the heat of Draco's body, the reflection of his own face in the shards of broken glass, the pain...

 

“More broken glass.” Janus swore and then muttered, “There's an optimist/pessimist joke in there somewhere. You know, the optimist says the glass is half full, the pessimist says it's half empty. Neither one of them has met Malfoy, or he wouldn't have a glass.” When Harry didn't respond, he sighed. “Right. I won't quit my day job.” 

 

“I broke the mirror,” Harry said flatly. 

 

“Don't worry about it. I'll get it later.” He walked toward the kitchen, still holding Harry's wrist and pulling him along. 

 

In the kitchen, Janus pulled out one of the chairs for Harry and then began rummaging in a cabinet. Harry steeled himself for the inevitable burn of hydrogen peroxide and was surprised to see Janus take out a small amber vial instead of the large plastic bottle. 

 

“Essence of dittany,” Janus explained as he unscrewed the top of the vial. 

 

“From your secret potions dungeon?” Harry asked, holding out his hand for Janus to treat. 

 

“Yep.” Janus applied a few drops to the cut, and Harry watched in fascination as the flesh began to knit before his eyes. After wetting the tip of his right index finger with the brown liquid, Janus lightly touched the sore place on Harry's lip. His left hand went to the back of Harry's head, stroking his hair as if he were a small child. 

 

“Janus--” 

 

The sound of his name seemed to startle him, and he backed away, raising his hands in the air. “Sorry.” 

 

“It's alright.” 

 

“It's not.” Janus picked the vial up from the table and held it out toward Harry. “In case you need it for anything else.” 

 

Harry closed his hand around the vial and nodded his thanks, looking down at the floor. “This is rare. You should save it for emergencies.” 

 

“I can make more.” Janus waved a hand. “And we'll make sure there are no more emergencies around here, at least none involving you. You can take my room tonight. Lock the door behind you if you want. I'll be up. There's glass to sweep, blood stains to scrub out, and a word to have with Malfoy if he comes back.” A tremor passed through Janus, and as Draco had described, his eyes turned dark and frightening. 

 

“You wouldn't really turn him into a rat, would you?” Harry asked.

 

Janus smiled, reverting to his usual self. “Do you want me to?” 

 

“Is that an offer?” Harry asked sourly. 

 

“Is that a request?” Janus was grinning broadly now. 

 

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I don't want that, I just want him gone. I don't mean dead!” Harry glanced up at Janus, half-afraid that his words would be misinterpreted. 

 

“I knew what you meant.” Janus knelt down and riffled under the sink until he pulled out a dustpan with a tiny broom attached. As he exited the kitchen, Harry stood, crossed the room, and caught him by the shoulder. 

 

“James.” Harry said the name clearly, so that it came out sounding like a challenge. 

 

When Janus turned around, Harry half expected him to be twitching and dark-eyed again, but he only looked sad. “I haven't used that name in a very long time, Harry. And it hasn't felt right since I-- well, in an even longer time. It's ‘Janus'.” 

 

“What else aren't you telling me?” 

 

“A lot of things. My social security number, my e-mail address, the name of the goldfish I had when I was five...” 

 

“I want to trust you.” Harry squeezed his eyes closed. Involuntarily, his hand tightened on Janus's shoulder. 

 

Gingerly, Janus used his thumb and forefinger to take Harry's wrist and move his hand away. “Then do.” 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------

 

The first sensation to enter Draco's consciousness was a sharp pain in the right side of his face. He sat up, blinking his eyes and swiping at his cheek, dislodging pieces of twig and leaf. The smell of earth and dew filled his nostrils. He flexed his stiff, bruised hands, and the flood of memories from last night came rushing back. 

 

He hadn't dared return to the house, not with Janus “through with him” and Harry-- He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his left hand with his right, preferring the concrete, physical pain to the anguish of contemplating his own actions. After last night, Harry had no reason to help him at the trial. He would go to Azkaban with his father, just like he deserved. 

 

As he made his way toward the house, he tried to imagine the life he would be missing. He could have finished school, taken over his father's estates, and lived out his days in Malfoy Manor. He could have honed his magic, could have become powerful enough to restore his name, gained the respect of the wizarding world on his own merit, not because of a bloody scar! He could have gotten even with Janus, not with simple brutality, but with something truly humiliating, something that would have taken him years to concoct. 

 

He tried to feel some spark of anger, some twinge of regret, but in truth, his imagined life held no more appeal than the stone walls of a cell. Without Harry, that life was as empty and soulless as a dementor's victim. That, he decided, was the worst thing that Potter, or anyone else, had ever done to him. By allowing him to imagine, even for a moment, that there could be something more, that for once, he could have what he wanted, Harry had ruined everything else. 

 

The heavy scent of bacon and coffee wafted from the open kitchen window, making his stomach growl, reminding Draco that he was still alive and capable of feeling something other than pain. He put his hand on the knob and turned, half-expecting Janus to fly at him as soon as the door opened. 

 

When the door swung open without event, Draco stepped inside to see Janus standing in front of the stove, whistling an unfamiliar tune while he fussed over a pair of skillets, one filled with bacon and the other with white blobs of batter. 

 

“Blueberries?” Janus put down his spatula and lifted a carton from the countertop. 

 

“Blueberries?” Draco repeated, unable to articulate a better question. 

 

“In your pancakes,” Janus said slowly, shaking the carton again. 

 

Draco shook his head. “No! I don't want any stupid berries.” 

 

“Suit yourself.” Janus poured berries into half the skillet before turning the pancakes. A moment of surreal silence followed, broken only by the sizzle of the bacon in the pan. With a flick of the spatula, Janus loaded the food onto a large plate and set it on the table before refilling the two pans with batter and bacon. 

 

“After last night, you're just-- You're just going to pretend nothing happened?” Draco asked, blinking in confusion as he looked from the neatly set breakfast table to Janus and back. The spatula clattered to the stovetop, and Janus whirled, drawing his wand from the pocket of his shorts. One long stride carried him across the kitchen where he grabbed a fistful of Draco's hair and put the tip of his wand to Draco's temple. 

 

Stunned to silence, Draco closed his eyes in anticipation of the curse that would make all of his worries about the trial moot. His senses heightened. He could feel a separate pain from each strand of hair. His nostrils screamed with the stench of coffee, bacon, and pancakes, all mingled with the scent of Janus' soap and the faintest traces of that horrible, acrid potion. 

 

“If you ever-- look me in the eyes, damn it!” Janus jerked on Draco's hair, and he complied. “If you ever damage my property or threaten my cat again, then mark my words, I will make you homesick for your daddy. And if you even think about laying a hand on Harry again, I'll be inspired to think of something even worse.” Releasing Draco's hair and pocketing his wand, he broke into a grin. “There. Better? More what you were expecting?”

 

Draco ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it into place. “You're mental, you know that?” He watched as Janus returned to his cooking and resumed whistling the same tune. “And you don't scare me anymore. I have nothing left to lose, which makes me--” Draco spun at the sound of a door closing. 

 

Harry emerged from Janus' bedroom wearing a borrowed bathrobe. Seeing Draco, he smiled as he sauntered over to the table, sat down, and helped himself to breakfast.

 

“Morning, Harry.” Janus finished his work at the stove and brought another plate of food to the table before sitting down. “Did you get some sleep?” 

 

Harry nodded while chewing a bite of blueberry pancake. 

 

Draco looked from the open bedroom door, to Harry, to Janus, and back. His brain boiled with the idea of Harry stretched out atop the tiger blanket, welcoming Janus into bed as the painted cats looked on with their flat yellow eyes. Would Harry have been frozen and stoic for Janus, as he had been for Draco, or would he have responded, moving underneath him and crying out in pain or pleasure? If Draco had his wand, he would put them both under the Imperious curse and force them to confess. 

 

As if feeling the weight of Draco's stare, Janus looked up from his plate and shook his head. “What you're thinking... no.” 

 

“You have no idea what I'm thinking,” Draco snarled. He jerked one of the chairs out, sat down, and loaded the plate in front of him with bacon and one of the blueberry pancakes, just in case Janus had slipped something into the berryless ones. 

 

While he ate, he tried to keep his eyes on the food, the table, or the wall-- anything but Harry. Still, he kept glancing at Harry's face, noting that unlike his own lips, Harry's were their normal shape and free from cuts. Harry's hands were clean and whole, too, while Draco's had dirt from the ground caked on top of the scabs from the pieces of mirror. Whatever else Janus had done to Harry, he had healed him, in spite of his vaunted “no magic” rule. 

 

Without speaking to either Janus or Draco, Harry stood after he had finished his breakfast, carried his plate to the sink, and left the kitchen, leaving Draco alone with Janus, who studied him over the rim of his coffee mug. 

 

Draco looked over his shoulder to be sure Harry was out of the room before forcing himself to look at Janus with a neutral expression. “I suppose you know how to do a decent memory charm? You would have to, if you live with Muggles all the time.” 

 

Janus nodded. “First thing I learned, once I arrived in the States. Pretty handy for covering your tracks.” 

 

“Then you can make it so last night never happened!” Draco leaned forward, his hand still clutching his fork. His fist tightened so that the metal handle dug into his palm. 

 

Janus put down his coffee mug and tilted his head. “Now why exactly would I want to do that?”

 

“Because you swore on Lupin's grave to protect Harry. You can make it so he doesn't remember what we-- what I-- You can fix it for him.” 

 

“So you can wait until after he bails you out at the trial before you show your true colors? No. If I do what you want today, how long will it be until 'last night' happens again?” 

 

Draco dropped his fork and gripped the edge of the table with both hands, squeezing in frustration. “It wouldn't happen again! It should never have happened. That's the point!” 

 

“A snake doesn't change his scales.” 

 

“You want to watch me rot in prison!” Draco sneered. “Whatever else you are, James Ward, you're a petty, vindictive bastard. If you won't help Harry, the least you can do is give me back my wand so I can. Or are you too afraid of what I'd do to you? Not sure your pathetic American-style magic would be a match for a real wizard?” He held his hand out flat and raised an eyebrow as he looked from Janus to his empty palm. 

 

Janus clapped his hands several times, leaving long pauses between each clap. “Nice. Very infuriating. And making me choose between giving you back your wand and admitting I'm afraid of you? Smart, in a Slytherin sort of way.” 

 

“Accio, wand!” Draco shouted. When his hand remained empty, he repeated the spell. 

 

“You didn't really expect that to work.” Janus' tone made it clear that his words formed a statement, not a question. “Give it up, Malfoy. You reap what you sow.” 

 

“You stupid, arrogant--” 

 

The doorbell rang, and Janus rose from his seat with a knowing little smirk on his face. 

 

“So much for your precious wards keeping everyone out. I knew they were only to keep us in!” Draco grumbled as he followed Janus out of the kitchen and to the front door. 

 

Harry had already opened the door and stood talking with a dark-haired woman in wizards' robes. 

 

“Andromeda,” Draco said flatly. “What are you doing here? Is Mother alright?” 

 

“She's worried.” Andromeda turned to face Janus. “Your owl gave us both a fright scratching on the windows! The note said it was urgent that I come. I half-expected...” She waved a hand. “Never mind that. Narcissa will be relieved to hear that Draco is unharmed. Now, what is it you need?” 

 

“He can't stay here any more.” Janus jerked his thumb in Draco's direction. “I thought about casting a paralyzing spell and sticking him in a box until the trial, but, well, by then I had already sent Arty with the note for you.” 

 

“I see.” Andromeda pursed her lips and frowned at Draco. “Very well. Cissy will prefer this arrangement anyway. Harry is welcome to come, too, if--” 

 

“I'll stay with Janus,” Harry said softly. 

 

Draco felt a near-electric jolt of rage. Harry had dressed himself by now, but the image of him walking out of Janus' bedroom in that puffy bathrobe was still stuck in Draco's mind. What you're thinking... no. He mentally re-played Janus' denial, convincing himself that it was sincere. Harry wouldn't, not with Janus, anyway. 

 

“We'll be in touch,” Janus promised. “And one more thing. I might need Draco's help during the next few days. If I come for him, he needs to come with me, no questions asked.” 

 

Andromeda shrugged. “Take that up with Narcissa when the time comes.” 

 

“Right.” Janus rubbed at his chin for a moment. “Well, she can come with him, then. That'll work just as well.” 

 

“What is all of this about?” Andromeda asked, her eyes narrowing. 

 

“Just... trust me.” Janus flashed the same grin that always seemed to turn Harry into a simpering idiot.

 

“Why?” Andromeda folded her arms across her chest. 

 

The stupid grin faded. “Arthur put the boys in my care, and Remus--”

 

“Didn't trust you, or he would have made you Teddy's godfather, not Harry. You're expelling my nephew from your home, and you won't tell me why. That doesn't instill confidence, Janus.” 

 

Draco moved to stand beside his aunt. He smiled, having enjoyed the look on Janus' face when Andromeda made the jibe about Harry being Teddy's godfather. The words had hit Janus almost like a physical blow, and he had crumpled slightly before stiffening and tilting his chin up. Draco had seen the same posture from every sniveling little Gryffindor and Hufflepuff he had ever insulted, and he hadn't realized until this moment just how much he had missed it. 

 

“Well--” Janus began. 

 

“Janus isn't kicking Draco out,” Harry said. “I am. I'm the one who said I wanted him gone.” 

 

“Is this true?” Andromeda asked, looking at Janus. 

 

He nodded. “Look, I just wanted this to be simple.” 

 

“Then it will be.” Andromeda looped her arm through Draco's. “You can sleep in the den.” 

 

“Thanks,” Janus said. 

 

Andromeda didn't reply. The last thing Draco saw before apparition was Harry's smirking, self-satisfied face. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

The smirk vanished from Harry’s face as Janus closed the front door. Harry turned toward the bedroom and found he couldn't make himself go through it. Janus had cleaned up the glass but not the memories of what had happened inside. 

 

Harry felt a light touch on his shoulder. “Harry, are you alright?”

 

He shrugged away the hand and glanced out of the corner of his eyes to Janus. “Yeah, I’ll be alright,” Harry flatly said.

 

The corners of Janus lips twitched upward. “You’re free. It's what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, it was.”

 

“Well, then why the long face? You look as if someone just killed your dog.”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered as his feet finally found their ability to move once again. “I just thought that I would feel different than this.” He took a few steps forward.

 

“Nobody ever said that breaking up was easy, but I think a small celebration is in order. How about a drink?” Janus said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them briskly.

 

“What?” Harry asked as he rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall of the hallway.

 

Harry could see a different light in Janus’ eyes, one that reminded him of the first year students as they entered the Great Hall for the very first time at Hogwarts. The man was excited at the prospect of having Draco gone.

 

Harry sighed deeply as he brought his focus away from his memories of Hogwarts and back to his present depressed thoughts. “Yeah, fine, Janus. Whatever you want. Right now I just need a bit of time alone, if you don’t mind.” 

 

“Of course. Just try to take your mind off it, if you can. The best way to do that is to find a good book.”

 

“Yeah, sure, it’s your answer for everything.” Harry muttered as he slumped around the corner and into the bedroom, allowing the door to close slowly.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

“It’s not supposed to be this way!” Harry whispered as he slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the floor. He scooted up against the headboard of the bed and tilted his neck back so that the back of his head rested against it. 

 

"Nice…going…Potter…,” Harry whispered to himself as he banged the back of his head against the headboard with every word. “I really know how to mess everything up!” He gritted his teeth and his head smacked the board even harder. “First Cho, then Ginny, and now Draco!” Harry finished by banging his head too hard as he said "Draco", causing his vision to blur for a moment. 

 

“Face it,” he continued to whisper to himself as he slid down into the bed, resting his aching head on the soft pillows. “Every time I try to have a relationship with someone, it always ends up broken.” Harry rolled over and screamed into the pillow, while thrusting his fist into the mattress repeatedly. After exhausting his rage, Harry lay on his back as he looked up at the ceiling fan, watching its smooth, circular motion as it showered his face with cool air. His nostrils could still detect the sweet scent of Draco in the room as his eyes became heavy. He wriggled out of his jeans and tossed them to the floor, along with his shirt. Now, the cool air could flow over his body, drying the light coat of summer sweat. Moments later, Harry drifted into a deep, relaxing sleep.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Harry’s eyelids fluttered as the light of the day came in through the window. Groaning at being awakened, he closed his eyes and turned over onto his side as the soft, white sheet hugged his body. He did not register that another presence was in the bed with him until his hand brushed against something.

 

“Socrates, go away,” Harry muttered as he allowed the strands of hair to slip between his fingers. “Come on, cat, go…” Harry stopped as his eyes opened fully and a gasp escaped his throat.

 

“Draco…what are you doing here?” Harry rasped as he released the fine, blond strands of hair. Harry’s eyes traveled from Draco’s face down to his sleek, toned chest, where he observed Draco’s pink nipples. His gaze continued as his fingers lightly traced the tight muscles of the Slytherin’s abdomen, and he allowed his hand to linger on the light honey-colored "happy trail" that extended from Draco’s naval and continued on below the white bed sheet.

 

Harry began to ask the question again, but stopped as a long, perfect finger touched his lips. “I could never stay angry at you, Harry.” Draco grinned. “I'm here to fix a mistake.” Draco reached out, taking Harry’s hand that was touching his stomach, and he led it down toward his growing heat and hardness. “As a matter of fact, Harry, I want to make things right this time.” Draco emphasized his words by softly kissing Harry’s parted lips and squeezing Harry's hand around his own hardened member.

 

“Draco I..I…” Harry began to ask how Draco got into the house, but was silenced by the Slytheirin’s lips pressing firmly onto his. Their mouths parted as Draco’s tongue lightly brushed the tip of Harry’s. Draco’s hand slowly stretched under the sheet and traced the outline of Harry's own hardened state through the boxers before slipping inside them, and allowed his finger to encircle the head.

 

Harry moaned as Draco deepened his kiss and continued to pleasure Harry with his hand. Finally, Draco broke away as pale blue eyes met Harry's. “This time, my love, I want you to have me. Take me and make me your rock.” 

 

Harry’s mind was full of so many thoughts and emotions that he could not answer Draco, but only nodded. Draco smirked as he rolled Harry onto his back before moving down and gently pulling Harry’s underwear off, letting his lips and tongue caress Harry’s hardness as he did this. 

 

Harry watched as Draco's mouth ceased its action while the Slytherin repositioned himself, straddling Harry's waist. Draco reached down, holding Harry's hardness, and slowly lowered himself down onto it. Harry closed his eyes as he felt incredible warmth as he slid deeper, inch by inch, inside of Draco. The sensation drove Harry to a new height, and he sharply inhaled followed by a deep intake of breath from Draco. He opened his eyes and could see the sunlight mixing with the glistening sweat that had formed on the Slytherin’s pale, beautiful naked body while Draco gently balanced and began to rock himself on top of Harry. 

 

“Oh, Draco!” Harry gasped as he lifted his hips, allowing himself to penetrate Draco even further. “Please don’t stop!” Harry groaned as his hips began to gently rock in rhythm with Draco’s body and the guttural sounds that he made. 

 

Harry could feel a burning heat around him now as their tempo increased, their bodies moving as one, words of endearment escaping their lips. Harry grasped Draco’s hips while he began to thrust harder and deeper into the warmth. Draco placed his soft, sweaty hands on Harry’s chest, and he groaned and leaned forward to whisper naughty pleasures into Harry's ear. 

 

A low animal-like growl came from Harry. He closed his eyes and thrashed his head, all the while keeping the frantic pace of their lovemaking going. “I…lov…love...you…Draco,” Harry whispered. His hips bucked upward, spilling his seed inside of his love, his mind soaring through the boundaries of the sky. He gasped as he flung his eyes open, locking onto the pale blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. Every ounce of energy rocked his body while he continued on the skyward journey. Draco closed his eyes as he moaned and tossed his head in orgasmic heaven, squeezing every muscle in his body, and then splashing his hot seed onto Harry’s chest and abdomen. 

 

Their breath caught at the same time. Their journey through the clouds ended, and they descended, gliding softly back down to earth. Being careful not to hurt Draco, Harry slid out from under him and eased his love down onto the pillow next to him. Draco’s eyes sparkled as the ecstasy of their lovemaking began to fade. He softly kissed Harry, allowing the Gryffindor’s tongue to fully explore the far reaches of his own mouth. Slowly, their kiss ended when Draco stroked Harry’s nose with the side of his finger. “And I love you, Harry…James…Potter.” 

 

Their lips met, and their tongues entwined with one another again. Harry wrapped his fingers into the golden locks of Draco’s hair; the movement of Draco’s tongue upon his own was too much for Harry to bear. He closed his eyes and let his body and natural instincts take over. Harry was mesmerized by the intoxicating scent of Draco’s body, and he wished that the scent would never go away, that it would always be there with him day and night. 

 

Their lips parted as Harry opened his eyes again. Harry gasped as he startled and pushed himself away from the dark hazel eyes. “Harry…” 

 

\-------------------------------

 

“Harry, Harry," the voice called to him through the milky veil of the departing dream. 

 

Harry awoke from his nap as the last remnants of the dream hit him. He shouted when he saw Janus' face close to his, and he slid out of the bed backwards, bumping his head on the hardwood floor. Embarrassed by his near nakedness, Harry tightly wrapped the bed sheet around him, covering up any exposed skin and trying to hide the evidence of the dream.

 

"What the…?" Janus began to ask before stopping and answering his own question, as he looked down at Harry, who lay flat on his back, the cool hardwood sending shivers down his spine. Janus raised an eyebrow, and the left corner of his mouth turned up. "I see. I'm sorry, Harry; guess I interrupted you at an awkward moment."

 

"Yeah. Sorry about screaming in your face, but it was just a crazy dream. I wasn't expecting you when I woke up," Harry said as his eyes roamed over the white sheet, scanning for any remaining evidence from the dream.

 

"We all have dreams like that. Here, let me help you up." Before Harry could protest, Janus gripped him by his elbow, standing him up, and allowing Harry to untangle his feet from the sheet. “Now, are you alright? I heard what sounded like low screams coming from in here.”

 

“What?” Harry mused as he shook his head clear from the remaining cobwebs delivered by the fall to the floor. “Yeah, yeah, I’m alright. Just a crazy dream is all.” Harry glanced into Janus’ concerned face, then turned away, unable to look him in the eye.

 

“Well, at least you're alright,” he said, letting go of Harry’s arm and walking to the bedroom door. “I figured that after last night, you probably needed a bit more rest.” He flashed his glowing smile at Harry. “When you're ready, that drink is in the kitchen. Also, there are some sandwiches waiting for you in the fridge.”

 

“Thanks. I'll be there in a minute,” he nodded as Janus exited the room.

 

Harry walked toward the door, passing the bed, before he looked at the place in the bed where the dream Draco had been. “Why did it all have to be a dream?” Harry whispered. He sighed as the memory of their fight came back to Harry like an unstoppable wave. “Why can’t things be different?” He sighed again as he dropped his hands toward his boxers and felt cold, wet stickiness.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Harry walked into the kitchen as the kettle on the stove whistled loudly. Janus glanced over his right shoulder while he removed the kettle and poured two mugs of hot water, which instantly turned a dark shade of brown. 

 

“Freshened up?” Janus asked, stirring the brown liquid in both mugs.

 

“Huh?” Harry asked.

 

“I asked are you freshened up? You’ve been asleep for most of the day, and I heard you in the shower a few minutes ago.” Janus smiled as he finished stirring the brown liquid. 

 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry blurted. His memory raced to the stained boxer shorts that he had changed out of. 

 

“Good,” Janus replied, handing Harry the hot mug. “Drink this. Careful, it’s very hot, but it’s your celebration drink. Cheers, Harry!” Janus softly blew into the mug before sipping the dark liquid. Harry followed as the hot liquid stung his lips and tongue. 

 

“Hot chocolate?” Harry asked, as Janus walked into the living room, Harry in tow. 

 

“Yep!” Janus replied. He sat the mug on the table next to the sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s a recipe that my grandmother taught me when I was a little kid. Hot chocolate, mixed with a dash of sugar and nutmeg. Hits the sweet tooth every time.” 

 

Harry made his way into the living room and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, twisting so that he half-faced Janus. “But I thought hot chocolate was supposed to be served when it’s cold out, not in the middle of summer?” 

 

Janus relaxed into the cushions and laced his fingers behind his head. “Well, it’s just like ice cream. The best time to eat ice cream is when it’s cold outside, not hot.”

 

Harry smiled as he took another sip of the soothing drink. 

 

“Harry...” Janus said the name with a sigh. His next words came out quickly, as if he were forcing himself to say them and wanted to get them over with. “If there's anything you need to talk about, I mean about Draco, about last night--”

 

“Talk about what?” Harry asked as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. The chocolate suddenly tasted cloying in his mouth, and he put the mug down on the coffee table. “There’s nothing to say.”

 

Janus sighed again as his finger traced the handle of his mug. “Right. Look, you don't have to do that, not with me. I said I wanted us to be friends, and I meant it.” He put the mug down again and turned toward Harry. For a moment, their eyes met, and the end of Harry's dream flashed through his brain.

 

“You know what happened between Draco and me last night. We’re finished! I wanted him gone, and I…”

 

“Yeah. I know what you told me, but you don’t kick someone out of your life just because you get mad at him, or because he was a bit…rough with you.”

 

“You heard?!” Harry asked, his face turning a deep red. He had been so careful not to scream, had bitten his tongue until it bled; how could Janus have heard? 

 

Janus’ eyes narrowed slightly. “I…guessed. Look, if I had known he was going to hurt you, I would have--”

 

“It's not your job to protect me,” Harry snapped. 

 

“Actually, it pretty much is.” Janus put his mug down again and edged toward Harry. He stretched out his hand, almost placing it on Harry's shoulder before jerking it back and letting it fall onto the cushion between them. “One thing I have to know, and I'm sorry for asking, but did he... did he have your permission, or...” 

 

Janus let his words trail off as he tilted his head, trying to read Harry's downward gaze. A silence followed, in which the only sound in the room was that of the grandfather clock ticking away each painful second. Socrates jumped on the arm of the chair and settled down; the Siamese cat's eyes seemed to bore through Harry’s brain.

 

Janus broke the silence. “Do you remember that you said that you wanted to be able to trust me? And I told you that you could.” 

 

Harry closed his eyes, seeing Draco in his mind, reliving the thrill of anticipation when Draco had whispered into his ear. “He asked if it was what I wanted. It was.” 

 

“Fair enough." Janus swallowed the rest of his drink before firing his next question at Harry. “What you said last night, about hating him, did you mean it?"

 

“What do you care? What does anyone care? I'm done holding the fate of the world in my hands. What I do, what I feel-- none of it matters to anyone but me.” Harry pounded a fist on his thigh, startling Socrates, who retreated under the coffee table, raised a hind leg in the air, and began cleaning himself. 

 

“I care because in five days, you've got a decision to make, assuming nothing happens in the mean time. Are you going to speak up for Malfoy, or are you going to let the Wizengamot make their decision without you? Besides,” Janus grinned, “I can't have you sulking around my house all unresolved-like.” 

 

Harry shifted on the couch as the answer came to his mind. “It doesn’t matter how horrible he is, or how much he enjoys hurting me, or even how jealous he can be. None of that matters, because I've seen the good within him, and I know he's not a murderer.”

 

Janus leaned back against the armrest and motioned for Harry to continue on.

 

“With Draco, I-- I feel alive when I'm with him. I feel like I can fly above the clouds when I look into his eyes and see them glow with their blue radiance. I’ve never felt this way with anyone else before. Not with Cho, or Ginny, and--” he flushed and took a drink of his hot chocolate, needing an excuse to look away. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

 

“Nah, not stupid. Just...young. I get it. I've been there before. You think Draco is your soul mate.”

 

“Yes, I think, er, I thought so, before...” Harry tilted back his cup and drank, wishing it were filled with firewhiskey to wash away the memory of Draco's words, or at least dull the pain. 

 

Janus smiled. “Well, it doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are polar opposites, but sometimes those opposites do attract, and when they do, it can be the greatest feeling ever. For a while."

 

“Yeah, I know.” 

 

“But also, Harry, they can reject one another. If that occurs, it may take a lifetime to get over. Sometimes you never do get over it, no matter who else you're with.” Silence followed once again. “Let me ask this, Harry. Does Draco feel as strongly for you as you do for him?”

 

“He-- he's never said-- but I know--” Harry stammered, mentally replaying the events of last night. Irrationally, he wanted to hit Janus for having asked the question

 

“I see. You mentioned earlier that you've seen the good within Draco.”

 

“Yes! It's when he's with Teddy, and there was that night, after we rescued his mother. I woke up and saw him, felt him in bed with me, holding me. I thought it was a dream, but Narcissa told me she found us that way.” Realizing the mental picture he had just painted for Janus, he added, “We had our clothes on!”

 

Janus laughed. “Probably good for Narcissa's sake. Still can't say I like the idea of Malfoy in the same room with my little brother, though.”

 

“You're wrong there!” Harry shook his head. “You'd have to see it to believe me. Draco's a totally different person. He’s kind, caring, sweet, and very affectionate towards him. I think that he would defend Teddy to his dying breath, if he had to.”

 

Janus lightly stroked his chin for a moment before shaking his own head. "I think you're right. I'd have to see it to believe it. Let's assume you're right and he has a soft spot for Teddy. However, I still am going to say this: I'm not going to tell you to stay away from Draco. I won't tell you that getting him out of here was the best decision you ever made in your life. I know that you wouldn't listen, so all I'm going to say is 'be careful. Be very careful with Draco Malfoy.'"

 

“Why? I trust Draco with my life!” Harry shouted as he stood up from the couch. He had said the words without thinking, but as he stood glaring at Janus, he realized they were absolutely true. Draco hadn't ended their relationship just to save his own skin. He had wanted to protect Harry, too. 

 

Janus motioned for Harry to sit down. “That’s very noble Harry, but Draco had better trust you with his life. Because now you have a major decision to make regarding him, and based upon the events of last night and this morning, that is going to take a lot of thinking on your part.”

 

"What's there to think about?" Harry asked. "I'm not going to let him go to Azkaban just because we're not together. It was never like that." Harry sat back down, and Socrates jumped onto the cushion between Harry and Janus, his blue eyes staring at Harry.

 

“There's plenty to think about, Harry. It's not like you and Malfoy are the only two pieces on the board. Draco Malfoy, Harry, is an enigma. Personally, I am glad that he's gone right now, but I see you're not. Look, there's light and darkness in you, me, everyone. Now you said that you've seen the good within Draco, and I believe you, but can you honestly say that you've seen the darkness within him? And I don’t mean some Hogwarts bullying thing. I’m speaking about Voldemort-type darkness and worse.”

 

“No!” Harry defended. “I mean, yeah, he can be a real prat sometimes, but I don’t think he's capable of doing something like that. He was too scared of Voldemort to be like him.”

 

“For your sake, Harry, I hope you're right. However, each man has that darkness within his soul. It can lay there and be hidden and dormant for many years, when it's surrounded by the good within someone. But all it takes is one slip, an accident, a stupid mistake, and--"

 

“Look, Janus, I know...” Harry began before being interrupted.

 

“Please, Harry, don’t shoot the messenger here, just listen to me! Having said that, things can also work the other way too.”

 

“What? You mean someone can be surrounded by dark and evil, but still have a single shred of good buried somewhere deep within them? Like Narcissa-- is that what you mean?” 

 

“Exactly, Harry. Now it’s up to you to find out which one Draco really, truly is. And once you know the answer, then no matter how hard it is, no matter how it makes you feel, you know the right thing to do.”

 

The room fell silent once more, except for Socrates who nudged and meowed for Harry to pet him. Janus rose from the couch and looked at the Siamese and Harry. “He wants you to scratch behind his ears."

 

Harry nodded as Janus walked past and into the kitchen. “Janus?” Harry asked as he sat on the sofa, lost in a myriad of thoughts and questions. Janus' words from the afternoon on the patio came back to him.

 

It's never just that. It's always something more, something you see that no one else can, some hidden redeeming quality, some inner pain-- 

 

“Yeah?” Janus voice came from around the corner.

 

Harry waited until Janus had returned to the room so that he could watch the man's face as he said, “You knew someone like Draco.” When Janus flinched, Harry continued relentlessly. “You loved someone like him, and you hate the way that it turned out.”

 

“It doesn't matter!” Janus growled.

 

“It does if you're going to lecture me.” 

 

Janus pivoted and strode down the hallway. After a moment, he called, “You coming?” 

 

Harry hastily caught up with Janus and followed him down the hall and through his bedroom door. “I don't understand--” Harry began. 

 

Janus opened the closet door and reached inside. Harry heard a latch click, and hinges creaking, followed by the sound of footsteps and the shriek of wooden steps. He followed Janus into the closet, through the door in the rear wall, and down the stairs, into a cool, dim room with a concrete floor.

 

Janus walked over to a trunk and began to riffle through it. After a moment, he stood up, brandishing a framed moving picture that showed a younger version of himself with his arms draped around two other teenagers-- a grinning blonde girl and a dark-haired boy who looked as if he were trying not to smile. As the moving picture replayed itself, the girl would reach across Janus and poke the boy in the ribs, making him squirm and laugh for a moment. He would then shake his hair out of his eyes and glare at the girl, mouthing something that Harry thought might be an obscenity. 

 

“Gabriel--”Janus pointed to the boy “--and Anna.” He tapped the picture of the girl. “Now you've seen my first love. Happy?” 

 

“Your first...” Harry frowned in confusion, trying to imagine Anna as a dark witch. Her cheeks still had their childish plumpness, and there was a dimple at the right corner of her mouth. “Which?” he asked. “Which is your first love, I mean, Gabriel or Anna?” 

 

“Both,” Janus said softly. 

 

“Oh.” Harry glanced at the picture again, noting that Gabriel's hand cupped Janus' thigh above the knee. When Anna reached to tickle Gabriel, Janus leaned forward so that her chest pressed against his instead of merely brushing it. The image took on an entirely different meaning following Janus' revelation, and Harry looked away from it, embarrassed to be thinking of Janus in the middle of... whatever had come after the picture was taken. “You don't mean...” 

 

“I do mean.” Janus ran his hand through his hair, and inhaled deeply before continuing. “It wasn't like over here, Harry. We went to a regular Muggle school, and were the only three wizards in town, at least, the only ones our age. We took lessons in magic together, and we couldn't leave each other alone outside of that. Gabriel, Anna, and I became inseparable. We were three hearts beating as one. There was no shame with us, as we done everything together. We shared each other’s love, and at that time I could not have asked for anything more perfect in life than those two.” 

 

“What happened?” Harry asked. 

 

Janus continued to stare at the picture, his eyes unfocused. “Gabriel looked a lot like you, but the resemblance ends there. He was more like Draco. There was a cruelty there, a lust for power, a contempt of anyone he saw as beneath him. If he thought he could hurt someone without being caught, he would. He--” Janus sat the picture down and ran his hand through his hair, pacing. “He, uh, learned something from me, but he didn't want to learn how to control it. You can guess what happened.” 

 

“No, I can't.” As Harry stared at Janus, waiting for him to continue his story, Draco's accusation came back to him.

 

The way you hang on his every word...

 

Janus stopped his pacing and met Harry's eyes. A dim incandescent bulb hung above his head, making strange shadows on his face, accentuating his high cheekbones and narrow nose so that he looked almost vulpine. “He had to be stopped.” 

 

“You mean, you killed him?” 

 

Janus nodded almost imperceptibly. “Having to kill someone you shared your life, your heart, and your soul with is…well it's cold-blooded, but it had to be done. And I was the only one that could do it.”

 

“Janus…I--I’m so sorry. If I had known then I--“

 

“You didn't.” Janus waved a hand and stepped out of the pool of light, lowering his face so that Harry could no longer read his expression. 

 

“What about Anna?” Harry asked, glancing back at the picture. 

 

“Dead.” Janus bent, retrieved the photo, and put it back in the bottom of the trunk. 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

“I know.” Janus sat down on the trunk and took Harry's hand, pulling down until Harry bent his knees and joined Janus on the lid. The trunk was just wide enough for the two of them to sit without touching each other. “You're the second person I've ever told. Remus was the first, which means--”

 

“I'm the only one who knows,” Harry finished. Knowing such an intimate secret made him feel important and awkward at the same time. “You don't have to worry about me telling anyone.”

 

“I'm not. Worried, I mean.” Janus stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused. 

 

“So, this is what Draco found? Your secret potions dungeon?” Harry asked, looking around at the bookshelves and the slate bench, wooden table, and cauldron. The bench top had several amber vials like the one Janus had given Harry, along with an array of larger bottles. The room had a strange smell, sickly sweet and rotten at the same time, like decaying flowers. Whatever damage Draco had done, it had been cleaned up. 

 

Janus smiled, looking relieved to change the subject. “Yes, Harry, it is. You see, while I attended Hogwarts, I found that I had a special talent for making potions. I usually received top marks in my class. Everyday, Professor Slughorn would compliment me on my work."

 

“Really? That’s funny, because if he liked you so much then how come he never mentioned you to any of us? How come you weren’t in his Slug Club?” Harry asked, his eyes narrowing.

 

“Oh, please, Harry!” Janus chuckled. “I may have been a top student in Potions, but I couldn’t stand "Sluggie". There's nothing that the man could have done to get me to join his little club. I wasn’t about to kiss his ass!”

 

Harry smirked. “Besides,” Janus continued, “Slughorn wanted everyone to follow the rules of potion making, but me, I liked to experiment, invent, and optimize.”

 

“Exactly like Snape!” Harry snorted. “I bet you wrote down little shortcuts and things like that in your textbook?”

 

“Severus Snape? What makes you say that? Yeah, I wrote down a few notes for me to remember, but I wasn’t consumed by it all. From what I understand, Severus Snape was working both sides, but in the end, it all caught up to him. I’m not sure what you think, Harry, but I’m not like that. Magic was never my obsession; it's a tool, a means to an end. Every spell that can be conjured, and every potion that can be brewed has its counter. That’s what I wanted to master. Knowing the countermeasures of how to create certain potions has saved my life and those of people around me on more than one occasion.”

 

“You didn't know Snape,” Harry began, then shook his head, not wanting to relive the man's memories by telling them to Janus. Like Janus, Snape had entrusted Harry with heavy secrets, things he tried to bury along with his own problems. 

 

“Not well,” Janus agreed. 

 

Harry rose from the trunk lid and backed toward the stairs, torn between wanting to get as far away as possible and wanting to comfort Janus, who still seemed lost in a black haze of nostalgia. When Janus ignored him, he turned and climbed the stairs. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Night had fallen outside as Harry continued to read through the chapters of his book. He had expected to see Janus come out of the bedroom some time ago, but decided against knocking on the bedroom door. Harry looked outside at the pale moon as the warm summer’s breeze floated in through the open window. Finding a good place to stop reading, Harry yawned and stretched, and placed the book on the kitchen table beside his empty sandwich plate.

 

Harry returned to his bedroom, where he glanced down at the indentation Janus had left on the bed. Janus’ words echoed in Harry’s memory.

 

Gabriel looked a lot like you….

 

“He’s attracted to me.” Harry whispered into the empty room, feeling his face heat as he remembered the picture with Gabriel's hand squeezing Janus' thigh.

 

Harry smoothed out the bed, trying to push away the thoughts that had been creeping into his brain all afternoon. It had felt good to lay in Janus' bed last night and to put on his robe this morning. He had thought that feeling had nothing to do with Janus and everything to do with making Draco squirm, but now he wasn't sure. Then there was the dream, Janus' hazel eyes. Harry took a half step toward the door of his bedroom and then a full step back toward the bed, debating whether he wanted to check on Janus, see whether he wanted to be left alone, or...

 

A loud thump came from the other bedroom, and Harry started toward the hallway.

 

“Janus?” Harry asked as he stopped in front of the bedroom door. He placed his ear against the door, straining to hear any sounds coming from within. 

 

“Janus?” Harry called. “Are you alright? I heard a loud noise.” 

 

Silence.

 

Harry placed his hand on the knob and began to turn, but was interrupted by Janus’ voice coming from the other side of the door. “Harry? Oh, it's nothing to worry about. Go on back to what you were doing. I’m fine.” 

 

Harry listened as Janus’ breathing became louder and raspier. “Janus, come on, now. Let me in. You don’t sound right!” 

 

“No, Harry! Really I’m fine, I just need... a little breathing room.” Another loud thud came from the other side of the door.

 

Harry twisted the knob, only to feel the latch catch. “Janus!” Harry banged on the door with his fist. 

 

“No!” Janus howled as the sound of breaking glass came from the room. 

 

“Janus!”

 

“Don’t…come…in…here! Stay…away…from…me!” Janus screamed. “No! Get away! Go back! Ahh!”

 

Harry ran to his bedroom and grabbed his wand from the nightstand beside the bed. 

 

“Fuck the rules!” Harry shouted to himself as he neared Janus’ bedroom door. “Bombardia!” 

 

The bedroom door exploded inward, scattering the bedroom with pieces of wood. Harry ran into the room, wand at the ready to curse whoever was harming Janus or stop whatever Janus was doing to himself. He glanced around at the empty room. 

 

“Janus?” 

 

He reached and flipped the light switch. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. 

 

“No!” Harry gasped and ran to the window, where he studied the droplets of blood that stained the broken pieces of glass.

 

Outside the window, a dark shape moved in the trees and then disappeared. Harry bent to pick up one of the shards of glass, careful not to touch the bloody edge. “Everything ends up broken,” he murmured.


	31. Something Not Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is building to another climatic moment while revealing another layer to our characters. Oh yes, and for those that wanted to guess about Janus, you may want to hold those thoughts for a bit longer, as we look one step further at him. Don't worry Draco is here as well, and soon he will become a key figure as the story continues to revolve. So everyone enjoy.

Chapter 31: Something Not Right

 

“Lumos,” Draco whispered. The tip of the wand began to glow, reflecting from the polished brass doorknob, which he turned with his left hand. The knob made a faint metallic clicking sound, and he froze, listening for footsteps. He counted to ten and still the only sound was that of his own breathing. Satisfied that he remained undiscovered, he swung the door open, entered, and then closed it slowly behind him. 

The room's occupant made no sound. At first, the silence alarmed Draco, and he crossed the room quickly, hardly noticing that the floorboards creaked under his feet. He bent close to the sleeper, so close that he could feel each soft, regular breath on his cheek. When he had satisfied himself that all was well, Draco straightened himself and adjusted the pack on his back until it sat comfortably. 

“I don't know what to say to you,” he began. “There was so much I wanted-- so many things I imagined--” he cringed, hating the way the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He shifted the pack again and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Not like you even know I'm here, is it? What I mean to say is, I wish I didn't have to leave. If my staying meant we could be together, I would stay, but my going to Azkaban won't help anyone. I'm running, running like a damned coward, but not from you.” 

He swung the pack down onto the ground and reached into one of the outer pouches, where he found something smooth and hard. He took it out and held it up in front of the sleeper's face, shaking the globe and making tiny bits of glitter swirl around inside. It seemed almost miraculous that the dragon snow globe had survived its journey from the pawn shop to the Burrow to Janus' house. He had considered throwing it against the pavement out of spite; the sight of the thing reminded him of Harry and that day in London. Something had stopped him from smashing the trinket, though, and now he had a better use for it. 

“I'm leaving this for you,” he said softly. “Someone will tell you after I'm gone that it was from me. I tried to write a letter to go with it, but I didn't know what to say--” 

“Accio, wand.” The incantation came from behind Draco, and when the wand flew out of his hand, he spun, nearly dropping the snow globe into Teddy's crib. “I see we can add theft to the list of your crimes,” Andromeda murmured, running her fingertip along the length of the wand. 

“You can buy another; I can't, not with aurors looking for me!” Draco sighed impatiently, cursing himself for the stupid, sentimental impulse that had driven him to the nursery. He could have been gone by now, having flown as far as Andromeda's broomstick could take him. “If you think I'm going to stay here and go quietly to Azkaban with Father--” 

“I think nothing of the sort. You'll stay here, tell the truth at your trial, and clear your name.” Andromeda flicked her wand, and Draco's pack slid across the floor to rest at her feet. She knelt and began pulling items out one-by-one. After examining a tin of biscuits, she banished it with her wand. A bottle of pumpkin juice, a loaf of bread, and a half ham all got the same treatment, and she continued until the pack lay empty. 

Draco flushed, glad that the predawn light from the nursery window was too faint to show the color of his face. He hated being a petty thief almost as much as he hated being discovered. The fact that he had needed to steal made him furious. By rights, his father's estate should be his. He should be able to buy what he needed, or at least be able to intimidate someone into giving it to him. 

“I'll find what I need somewhere else,” he said, taking a step toward the door. He was already forming a vague plan that involved taking a wand off some drunk in Nocturne Alley and using it just long enough to get his own wand back from Janus before turning the man into a crup and kicking him in the ribs. 

“You have what you need here.” Andromeda sighed and waved her wand almost carelessly, lifting Draco off the ground so that he hung, helpless, his feet moving against air. 

“Don't be stupid. I have a one-way ticket to Azkaban for something I didn't even do!” 

“Harry knows the truth--”

“And he'll keep it to himself!” Draco lunged for the wand and pitched forward, falling on air and then scrambling into a standing position. 

Having heard Draco shouting, Teddy began to cry, making the same ear-splitting noise that Harry had said reminded him of Draco. 

“If you let me down--” Draco began, but Andromeda shook her head, and he slumped in resignation. “Fine. I only thought he might like to look at this.” Draco held out the snow globe toward Andromeda, who had moved to stand beside Teddy's crib. 

Instead of taking the globe from him, Andromeda summoned it with a silent spell, wrenching it from his hand. Holding it by the base, she lowered the bauble over Teddy, who reached for the glittery sphere with eager hands. His sounds attenuated from shrieks to soft little noises that were almost words, and Andromeda flashed Draco a sad smile as she set the snow globe down near Teddy's shoulder. 

“What makes you think Harry would refuse to speak for you?” she asked. 

“Janus.” Draco growled the name, hating the very sound of it. “He hates me, and Potter listens to him as if he were bloody Remus Lupin come back to life. They're probably talking about me now, if they're not--” He bit his tongue and closed his eyes, trying to empty his head of the image of Harry emerging from Janus' bedroom. “You don't trust him either!” He pointed a finger at Andromeda.

“I find that trust is an unwise practice.” Andromeda glanced from the wand in her hand to the empty pack on the floor. “Still, even if Janus and Harry were conspiring against you--” she grinned wryly to show what she thought of that possibility “--there are other ways you could prove your innocence. You could take Veritaserum, submit to legilimency--”

“No!” Draco shook his head furiously. He had already imagined such scenarios; they would ask him where he had been in the days leading up to the trial, who he had been with... And what is your relationship to Mr. Potter? He wasn't sure which idea horrified him more-- the truth spilling out of his mouth in his own potion-lubricated words or the thought of some legilimens invading his brain and pouring through every sick detail. 

“I see.” Andromeda folded her arms across her chest and made a disapproving noise. “It appears you have only one choice-- go back to Janus' house and end whatever childish quarrel you have with Harry.” Draco opened his mouth to protest, but she held up one hand, palm outwards, to forestall argument. “In ten years, or even one year, do you think either of you will remember what it was you were fighting over?” 

Draco looked away, glancing from the window to the floor to the crib, anywhere but Andromeda's face. In ten years, or even ten decades, he would remember the need that had driven him to take Harry and the shame that had somehow fueled the need. He would remember the heat of Harry's body, the ecstasy, the sight of his own shattered reflection in the broken glass. He would remember Harry's pitiful pleas for him to stay... We wouldn't have to tell them we're together... I wouldn't let him... 

“You don't understand,” he snapped. 

“Perhaps not.” Andromeda shrugged. “But understand this; if I catch you stealing from me again, or if you try to run away, I can't help you. I won't put Teddy at risk by aiding a criminal.” 

“You're already aiding me.” 

“Because I believe you're innocent. Am I wrong?” She moved to stand in front of the crib, blocking Draco's view of Teddy, and she raised her wand ever so slightly so that it pointed at Draco's chest. 

“I'm--” Draco glanced down at the fading Dark Mark that still scarred his arm. “I'm not a murderer. I don't deserve to go to Azkaban!”

“Then we'll make sure you don't.” She held out her left hand to him. “Come, I can take you back to Janus' house now, and you can make your peace with Harry--” 

“I can't!” He tried to take a step back, but his feet still hung above the floor, unable to gain traction. “What do you expect me to do-- beg on my knees for him to be my friend again?”

Andromeda shrugged. “If that's what it takes. I'm sure you'll think of something.” She smirked in that same awful way she had the first time he visited her with Harry. 

“I. Can't. Do. That.” He said slowly, emphasizing each word. 

“Why? Because of your pride?” 

“No! Because--” He scowled at the floor, unable to finish his sentence. 

“Hm.” Andromeda flicked her wand, and Draco fell to the floor and then to one knee. As he started for the doorway, she called, “Draco!” and when he turned back to face her, she said, “Don't make me regret trusting you.” 

He nodded and glanced at his empty pack, flushing again. “Don't-- don't tell Mother?” 

Andromeda sighed. “No, Cissy has been through enough, I suppose. She doesn't need to know about your escape plan.” Her expression darkened. “You do realize, if you disappear, or if you allow yourself to come to harm because of your infantile row with Harry--”

“You'll disown me? Hex me? Turn me into a bloody rat and let cats and owls chase me? Threats bore me.” 

“I was going to say it will break Narcissa. That's not a threat, it's an observation.” She bent to retrieve Teddy from the crib, and Draco took the opportunity to exit the room. 

His body felt like lead, and each step took the full force of his will. His mind tortured him with visions of Harry and Janus laughing about him. Harry was probably telling the story about Draco's stupid zipper getting stuck or reminiscing about his ignorance of Muggle artifacts and customs. Maybe Janus was regaling him with tales of Remus Lupin's selfless kindness or commiserating as one pathetic orphan to another. They were probably out on the back patio again, chairs pushed close together, close enough to touch if they wanted to. Draco put his hands to his temples and squeezed, willing his imagination to stop before the nightmare scene unfolded. 

\-------------------------------

The motionless body lay sprawled on the leather sofa, as limp as a deflated balloon. A lanky arm draped over the head of the body, its pale skin illuminated by the soft light that shined through the window. 

Fingers softly grasped the cool skin, searching for life within the deadened flesh. The fingers began to squeeze and massage the skin on the arm trying to will life back into the body. The arm fell from its perch on top of the head and crashed down across the nose and chest of the body.

Green eyes fluttered from behind the closed eyelids as Harry sat up from the not-so-comfortable cushions of the sofa. "Ahh!" Harry winced as he held his right arm with his left hand, opening and closing his hand repeatedly while the circulation slowly began to flow through his deadened arm. "So weird," Harry muttered, feeling the life being injected into his asleep arm. He continued to squeeze his hand increasing the flow of blood throughout his arm until the numbness finally went away. 

Harry stood, grabbing at a small pain in the side of his neck, until his brain and nose sensed a marvelous smell. "Coffee?" He rounded the corner of the living room, passed the splintered door to Janus' bedroom, and froze. Greeting him from the breakfast table was the black-and-white print of the Daily Prophet. A single hand reached around the newspaper, grasped the mug of coffee, and then disappeared from view. The large Siamese cat meowed as he intertwined himself around the legs of the person, begging for attention.

"Janus?" Harry asked. 

"Morning, Harry," the voice came from behind the newspaper. "I didn't feel like cooking this morning, but coffee is over there and there's some toast for you in the oven." Janus' hand appeared again to sit the empty mug back onto the table as Harry stormed forward, snatching the paper away from Janus and tossing it onto the floor behind him.

"You've got a bloody cheek!" Harry shouted as he pointed his index finger, the tip of it landing an inch from Janus' nose. 

"Harry?" Janus said, slowly raising his eyebrow and gently easing the finger out of his face with the back of his hand.

"Don't you 'Harry' me!" Harry said as he turned and began to pace the length of the kitchen. "How dare you try to lecture me about having trust and believing in you!"

"You're overreacting, don't you think?" Janus said as he calmly pushed his chair away from the table. 

Harry scoffed. "If that's what you prefer to call it! Fine! But, I have a damn good reason to be like this! Don't you realize how worried I was about you?" Janus opened his mouth to answer before Harry interrupted him. "No! Better yet! Where were you? What happened to you? And how the bloody hell can you act as if nothing happened last night?"

Janus stood up from his chair. "First off, Harry, I want you to calm down. Let's take this one thing at a time. Please, sit down." Janus pointed at the chair, his voice calm but authoritative. 

Janus walked over to the counter and picked another white mug, filling it with coffee. He came back to the table, filled his own cup full, and placed the white mug in front of Harry. "Now…" Janus let the words trail as he gathered the strewn newspaper together, folded it, and laid it across the table. "Well, go on Harry, drink. I didn't poison it." Janus motioned at Harry as he sipped his own coffee. "Now, what's gotten you all riled up this morning?" 

Harry took a deep sip of the coffee, allowing the taste and warmth to flow down his parched throat. The effect was soothing as he looked across the table. "What happened last night, Janus?"

"You mean the window, and the door?" Janus raised the cup to his lips as he watched Harry's eyes. 

Slowly, Harry nodded. "You locked me out of your room, shouted for me to stay away, and then screamed like a banshee. You broke a bloody window and climbed out of it to get away from me!"

"Huh. That's how you remember it?" Janus averted his eyes and stirred his coffee as if each stroke of the spoon required his full concentration.

"That's how it happened! I blasted the door down because I thought you were in danger. Surely you remember cutting yourself on the glass?"

Janus stared at Harry and shook his head. Exasperated, Harry tossed his hands into the air. "Well then what do you remember?" 

Janus got up and poured another cup of coffee into his mug before he spoke. "About last night? I'm sorry for not telling you this earlier, Harry. At first, I thought when it-- if it happened, that you'd be too busy with Draco to notice." Janus took a small sip of coffee before continuing on. "I admit it was selfish of me to speak to you about trusting and believing in someone, only to not do the same for you."

"Well, yeah, you think, Janus?" Harry spat. "Go on; tell me what you're going to say. It's not like I can read your mind."

Janus grinned. "Now, I'd be impressed if you were to do that." 

Harry's eyes narrowed. Could I trust your thoughts any more than what comes out of your mouth? I thought we were friends. I thought you needed me, but now I'm not so sure. "Alright, so go on," Harry motioned at Janus.

Janus drank heavily from his coffee mug before putting it down. "Alright, the truth. Harry…I have…I have…what…some people would refer to as a disorder."

"A disorder?" Harry asked blankly.

"Yes," Janus replied, nodding his head. "The official word for it is somnambulism." 

"Huh?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose at the sound of the word.

Janus grinned once more. "Sleepwalking, Harry. I have episodes of sleepwalking. On occasion these episodes are combined with night terrors. When they are combined, things will happen to me that I'll have no memory of, which is why I can't answer your questions about where I was or what I did."

"That's convenient," Harry said as he ran his hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. "And you really expect me to believe this nonsense? Sleepwalking? Night terrors? Is that the best excuse that you could come up with?"

Janus shrugged his shoulders as he looked into Harry's eyes. "Maybe it sounds like nonsense to you because you're not the one that has to go through it. You don't know what it's like to not be yourself, to worry that you might hurt someone, or worse."

Harry coughed as he swallowed his coffee. "What?" He gasped as fresh air rushed into his lungs from the burning sting of the coffee.

"I'm not going to bore you with a long, elaborate story about what the doctors and medi-witches from St. Mungo's have told me about my condition. The simple fact is this, Harry. I can be dangerous, even to my friends."

"So…" Harry began before Janus spoke up, completing the rest of Harry's thoughts.

"So that's why I shouted at you last night to stay in your bedroom, as you said. It's also the reason why I have certain protection wards that surround this place. It's not just to keep people away, but to keep me away from them. Thankfully, these episodes don't happen too often, but when they do, the best thing to do is to just let me be."

"Yeah, but…if you're like this, I mean if you're prone to these episodes, wasn't it dangerous keeping Draco and me here?"

"There are extra wards on your bedroom. You would have been safe even if I'd gone on a bloody rampage. It's my job to protect you, remember? Even from me."

"But yesterday you came into the room to wake me up. It wasn't warded against you." Harry searched Janus' eyes, looking for any hint of the guilt that would come with being caught in a lie.

"That was different," Janus waved a hand. "I wasn't in my…sleepwalking state."

"I don't understand," Harry softly spoke.

Janus smiled. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Harry, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." He got out of his chair, walked around the table and warmly clasped Harry's shoulder. "Let's put last night behind us, ok? In the future if I ask you to not worry about me, then trust me when I say that; no matter what. You can stop trying to save the world. Besides, we have more important work in front of us." Janus circled back around the table, tapping the Daily Prophet with his finger.

"Moreaux?" 

"Exactly, Harry. That, and also a certain trial of the century that you have to prepare for." He folded the newspaper so the bold headlines to the article flashed in front of Harry's face. 

Partners In Crime?  
Story by: Rita Skeeter

The questions that every witch and wizard asks these days are ‘Where is Harry Potter?’ and ‘What has become of The Boy Who Lived?’ 

The Daily Prophet has the inside details of Potter’s latest whereabouts. It seems that recently Harry Potter was sighted in Muggle London with, of all people, his Hogwarts nemesis, Draco Malfoy. According to an anonymous source, the two young wizards exited a small hotel and later shared a compartment on the London Eye before disappearing. 

Ministry of Magic officials were called to the location of the hotel, later that same day, as the proprietor had been found dead in the front office. The cause of death is being withheld, but the Daily Prophet can confirm that magic had been used in the room. 

Are Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy partners in crime? Is there some unknown reason why two wizards who hated one another have suddenly teamed up? And how are the two young wizards connected to this grisly murder investigation? Has Harry Potter's allegiance changed, and is he now associated with the Death Eaters, or is Harry Potter a rogue wizard gone bad?

Adding to the murder of the Muggle woman is a bizarre story that surrounds Malfoy Manor. A few days later, after the two young wizards had been sighted in London, Ministry officials were summoned to Malfoy Manor to investigate what is being labeled as an ”incident.” However, Daily Prophet insiders have revealed that since this “incident” happened, no one has seen Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy. It is also reported that Malfoy Manor has sustained considerable damage, as if a major assault had taken place. 

Did Harry Potter orchestrate and lead this attack? Is ‘The Boy Who Lived’ holding his arch rival hostage in a secret location, knowing that the trial of the century looms on the horizon for the Malfoy family? And where is the Malfoy family? Ministry officials are refusing to speculate at this time.

Or, is there a deeper, more sinister secret that the golden boy of the wizarding world is refusing to tell? Stay tuned to the Daily Prophet for the latest details of this groundbreaking story.

"That bitch!" Harry spewed as he slammed the newspaper down on the table. "How does she find out about things?"

"She likes to keep the pot stirred, doesn't she?" Janus smirked as he read the headline. "Fortunately, you will have a chance to prove her wrong. Ask yourself this. If you were a normal wizard or witch, whose word would you believe-- Rita Skeeter's, or Harry Potter's?"

Harry laughed humorlessly. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Right. So she has a little credibility with the plebs. She won't be speaking at the trial. You will. You're the man of the hour once again, Harry! However, that wasn't what I wanted you to read. Look at the blurb below Skeeter's garbage."

Harry quickly read through the short paragraph. "So some witch gets killed behind The Silver Wolf pub. It's Knockturn Alley. I'm sure things like this happen a lot there," Harry replied, tossing the paper back onto the table.

"You think so, Harry?" Janus asked, his eyebrow doing a good imitation of Draco Malfoy. "I would have thought that you might've had a bit of a different opinion. Looks as if Draco has rubbed off on you more than you realize."

"I didn't mean it like that, Janus!" Harry protested. "It's just that it is Knockturn Alley. It is the foulest part of Diagon Alley there is."

"Correction, Harry," Janus said raising his finger. "It is the only foul part of Diagon Alley, and also a perfect hiding place for Phillipe Moreaux. This murder could be related to him."

"How?"

"Let's say it's a gut instinct. It fits his modus operendi. I'm waiting on Arty to bring back some information. Just be ready to leave on a short notice." 

Janus disappeared behind the Daily Prophet as Harry walked out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, which Janus had supposedly warded against himself. "Trust me, Harry," he muttered under his breath in a high, sing-song tone. "I'm here to protect you, Harry. By the way, I might try to kill you, Harry. Something told me that I was making the wrong choice. Draco was right about him. There's something not right about all of this." Harry spoke as he crossed the room and looked out into the blue sky. "I'd like to see him try to attack me." Harry flopped down on the bed, folded his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes, hoping to make up some of the sleep he had lost last night.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Janus quietly paced around the kitchen, his hands holding the list that he had just written while his lips silently traced the words. Satisfied with the list, he returned it to his pocket and continued his pacing with an occasional glance at the open kitchen window. 

“Come on, damn it,” he whispered. “Time is precious.” He looked up at the kitchen clock. “Six hours already, and no word back,” Janus grumbled. “Yuri’s losing his touch.” 

His eyes found the open window once more as he paced by with another long sigh when there was no sight or sound of the russet-colored barn owl, Artemis. “He can’t fail me now! Not when I’m so close to finding--“

Janus stopped his pacing as he heard the sound, the low whoosh of wings flapping through the air followed by the unmistakable pitch of Artemis’ screech as the owl came closer to the window. He stepped back as the owl glided into the room and hovered for a brief moment before landing softly on the table.

“Arty!” Janus smiled as the owl hooted with delight at seeing its owner. “The bearer of good news, I hope.” Janus sat at the table and untied the parchment from the owl’s leg, leaned back in the chair and read the note. 

He quickly scanned the message, and then more slowly read the words once again. Folding the note in half and placing it in his other pocket, Janus reached across and lightly touched the owl’s feathers. “Fortune favors us today, old girl. It appears that my instinct was correct.” Artemis blinked her large amber eyes at Janus as he reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a small, brown pouch. 

“Here, take this to Yuri. Give him my thanks,” Janus whispered to the owl as he tied the pouch around her leg. He placed his hand on Arty's breast and lightly kissed the top of her head. “Safe passage, Arty,” he whispered as the owl trilled and took flight out the window. Janus smiled as the bird flew out of sight, before getting up from the chair and re-examining the note from his pocket. “Moreaux, I’m one step closer.”

The sound of flapping wings caught Janus’ attention as he continued to read the note from his contact. “Arty, I thought I told you to…” Janus began, but stopped when he saw that this bird was not Artemis. 

Janus heard footsteps hurriedly coming from the hallway. “Janus? I thought I heard Ori--" Harry stopped in mid-word as he rounded the corner, and Janus placed his arm out to stop him from moving closer toward the grey and white falcon. 

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked.

“Not exactly sure, just yet,” Janus said as he examined the bird, along with the red envelope that the falcon held in its beak. “Falcons are very aggressive. She’s a bird of prey, Harry, and not an animal that is easily trained, like an owl.” 

He cautiously approached the table, noting with each step that he took, the falcon’s talons dug a bit deeper into the wooden table, as if preparing to attack. Slowly, he extended his hand forward, facing down, in hopes that he would not present his actions as a threat to the bird. The yellow eyes blinked several times, before the bird lowered its head and allowed Janus to slip the edge of the envelope from the yellow stained beak. 

Once he had the envelope, Janus slowly stepped back beside Harry and watched as the falcon screeched while flapping its powerful wings, allowing the bird to hover above the table for a moment while staring at Janus and Harry, before flying out the window.

“Whew!” Janus said as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Glad that’s over with.” 

“I don’t understand!” Harry said as he turned from Janus to the place on the table where the falcon had been. “What’s the big deal about those birds?”

Janus sat down as he turned the red envelope over in his hands, inspecting every inch of it. “As I said, Harry, falcons are the most difficult and most aggressive of birds to train. Hardly anyone uses them to deliver mail."

"Draco has an eagle," Harry said. "That's a bird of prey."

"Exactly. There's something not right about a man who has an eagle. Same goes for one with a falcon." He pulled the letter from Yuri out of his pocket and placed it on the table beside the red envelope. “Anyhow, a lesson about birds is not important at the moment; this is.” He tapped his finger on both notes. “It seems that my guess was correct about Moreaux.”

“So I guess that means that you’re going to Knockturn…hang on, is that a howler?” Harry pointed at the envelope that Janus had taken from the falcon.

“No. We are going to Knockturn Alley,” Janus replied as he grabbed both letters and stood from the table. He glanced at Harry, noting that he had chosen to wear his jeans and tee shirt today instead of his robes. Janus approved of the choice, but having to generate clothing would make the glamour more difficult. “Go and get dressed, we’re leaving.”

Janus watched as Harry went into the bedroom, and then he made his way through his own splintered door and down to the cellar, closing the cellar door behind him. “Muffliato,” he said, as the door closed. He placed the envelope face down on the bench top, noting the green “S” that sealed the envelope shut. “I guess you found a way after all, didn’t you Lucius?” The edges of the envelope seemed to vibrate as a green glow began to emanate from under the seal. Janus stood back and pointed his wand at the red envelope. “Reveal your message.”

The envelope drifted up from the bed, as it continued to give of its green glow. A soft hissing sound came from the room as a pink, forked tongue darted out from the green Slytherin seal, and a pair of yellow-slit eyes opened from the red envelope. “Janus-s-s-s,” the forked tongue began. “I s-s-shall give you what you as-s-sk. My terms-s-s… Draco for Moreaux.” The tongue and slit-eyes vanished as the red envelope burst into a small flame, and disappeared.

"Janus?"

The voice came from behind him, and he jumped, biting his tongue to keep from shouting like a startled school boy. When he turned, Harry stood on the stairs, leaning against the rail.

"Just gathering supplies." Janus snatched a bottle of essence of dittany off the shelf and slipped it into his front pocket.

"Right." Harry's face and voice were expressionless.

“Well, now that I'm all packed...” Janus reached for his wand, pointed it at Harry, and murmured a brief incantation. The spell took effect immediately, replacing Harry's true image with that of a thin-faced, homely boy with dull red hair and a rash of freckles. “Can’t risk anybody knowing who you are in Knockturn Alley,” Janus climbed the steps, took Harry by the shoulders, and turned him in a circle, checking the integrity of the disguise. As he had expected, there were no visual chinks in the glamour, although anyone who touched Harry's face would feel the surprising sensation of glass and metal. 

Harry broke away from Janus and backed up the steps. “I'm ready.”

Janus nodded, climbed the stairs, and extended a hand. “We're traveling by apparition. Whatever you do, just stay close to me, and do as I say.”

“Business as usual, then.” Harry took Janus by the wrist, squeezing hard and bracing for apparition. 

 

\------------------------------------------

When Harry shook off the effects of apparition, he found himself looking up at the painted wooden sign for Mulpepper's Apothecary. Janus was already holding the door open and motioning impatiently for Harry to follow. As Harry brushed past Janus, he muttered, “I thought the girl was murdered in Knockturn Alley.” 

“We're not looking for her; we're looking for Moreaux.” Janus stepped up to the sales counter and rang the bell. 

“I don't think he's here.” Harry turned in a slow circle, scanning the neat rows of jars of ingredients. Near the counter, a shelf had brightly labeled jars of pre-brewed potions. “Wiggenweld,” he read from one of the jars, “guaranteed quality.” 

“He's been here or somewhere like it.” Janus scowled impatiently, tapping his fingers on the counter until Mulpepper appeared from a back room. 

“What can I do for you?” Mulpepper asked, looking from Harry to Janus. “I've got a special on flobberworm mucus this week--”

“Just information.” Janus withdrew a slip of paper from the pocket of his duster and handed it to Mulpepper. “Anyone been in here looking for those ingredients or wanting to buy the potion made from them?” 

“No.” Mulpepper shook his head emphatically and handed the slip back to Janus. 

“You answered awfully quickly--” Janus began. 

“Because we don't serve that kind here!” Mulpepper snapped. “Anyone with a shopping list like that, he's not someone I want hanging 'round my shop, scaring my customers. Try Slug & Jiggers. That lot would sell to anyone to make a galleon.” 

“Thanks for your time.” Janus slipped the paper back into his pocket and gestured for Harry to follow him out the door. 

At Slug and Jiggers, they received the same reception, which made Harry itch to know what was written on the paper. When he tried to ask, Janus deflected his questions by asking him if he had ever visited Knockturn Alley. 

“I've seen enough of it,” Harry replied. “It doesn't scare me.” 

“Good.” Janus looked back over his shoulder as he strode toward The Leaky Cauldron. “Just stay close, don't talk to anyone, and for heaven's sake, don't buy anything. If we do catch up to Moreaux--” 

“I'm not leaving you. I don't care if you do have some personal history with him. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione together could hardly beat him; I won't let you fight him alone.” 

Janus shook his head. “You have some sort of martyr complex? Moreaux is filth. He's not worth your life--”

“But he's worth yours?” Harry caught Janus' sleeve, forcing him to turn back for a moment. 

“He took mine a long time ago.” 

“Funny. You look alive to me.” Harry dropped the sleeve and jogged up the steps to the Leaky Cauldron, forcing Janus to keep up with him for a change. 

From the pub, they entered Knockturn Alley, and Harry smiled as he remembered how scary and mysterious it had once seemed. Now, it was more drab than dark. The few people they passed averted their eyes and slunk back into doorways and side alleys, some clutching bags under their arms. 

Harry looked down at his frail-looking, befreckeled hands and then up at Janus' ludicrous hat. “Why are they afraid of us?” he wondered aloud. 

“They're not afraid, at least not of us; they're ashamed. No one wants to be seen here, not these days. It's not a good time to be on the Ministry's bad side.” Janus climbed the steps to the apothecary shop and opened the heavy door, whose ill-oiled hinges groaned in protest. 

Unlike the shops in Diagon Alley, this one appeared poorly stocked. Most of the shelves were empty and needed a good dusting, but there were rings of clean wood to indicate that recently, the same shelves had been filled with merchandise. The shop had the same complex odor as Snape's dungeon and Janus' cellar, but the dust tickled at Harry's nose, bringing on a sneeze that caused the shopkeeper to drop his Daily Prophet. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” the man asked. 

Janus nodded and handed him the same slip of paper he had shown the others. 

“Oh, yes, yes, I can help,” the man said. He reached under the counter and retrieved a key on a big brass ring. “Just let me look in the back--”

“Sorry, we're not customers.” Janus glanced around at the shop, his eyes lingering a moment on the cobwebs in the corner. “We're looking for someone who was buying the items on the list. He would have been here in the past few days.” 

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed. He dropped the list on the counter top and flicked it toward Janus. “Customers are in short supply lately. You're not Ministry--” his lip curled in contempt as he ran his eyes over Janus, then Harry “-- so what is it you want with him?” 

“He's a--" Harry began.

Janus raised a hand for silence and cut Harry off, saying, “I owe him money. I want to settle up so I can stop looking over my shoulder. He'll be glad to see me once he sees I have his money.” 

The shopkeeper laughed, his narrow shoulders shaking. The laughter triggered a coughing fit, and when the man was able to speak, he said, “Good, very good! Tell me, does that ever work? No, don't bother, I don't care. Unless you plan to buy something, I say good day!” His hand went under the counter again, and Harry reached for his own wand in case the shopkeeper pulled his. 

“This man you're protecting, he's a murderer,” Harry said. “He's killed at least two people in the last week--” 

“Three,” Janus corrected grimly. 

“And his gold is a shiny as anyone's.” The shopkeeper shrugged his shoulders. “First the Ministry seizes half my inventory, and then I get harassed as if I were a Death Eater myself. Honest customers are afraid to come in here now! Can't even sell someone a bottle of flesh-eating slug repellent without filling out ten pages of paperwork--” 

“Fine!” Janus reached into his pocket, withdrew a handful of coins, and slapped them on the counter. “That's more than our mutual friend would spend in a month. Now, tell me what you know about him before he kills any more of your potential customers.” 

“Came in day before yesterday. Dark hair, about so tall,” the shopkeeper held his hand up to indicate someone a hand's length taller than Harry. “Smile like a blood-sucking bugbear, but I didn't try to sell that one a tooth-whitening potion, just sold him what he asked for and sent him on his way.” 

Janus leaned heavily on the counter, his eyes lit up. He bombarded the shopkeeper with questions-- had the man brought anyone with him? Did he say where he was saying? Had he mentioned any plans?

The shopkeeper's answers were, “No,” “Not that I recall,” and “Yeah, he said something about getting in a quick murder before bedtime,” the last dripping sarcasm and accompanied by an eye-roll that would have seemed more natural for an adolescent than a balding, middle-aged clerk. 

“This isn't a joke!” Harry snapped. He started to draw his wand, but Janus caught his wrist. 

“He's telling the truth,” Janus sighed. “We're done here.” Still gripping Harry's wrist, he quickly crossed the room and exited the shop. Once outside, he whispered “Run!” before loping down the alley in the direction opposite the Leaky Cauldron. 

When Harry caught up with Janus, he was in a side alley, leaning against a crumbling stucco wall. Harry slumped against the wall beside him, panting heavily. “Why--” he rasped, too out of breath to finish his question. 

Janus grinned and winked. “I gave him conjured gold.” 

“But you can't conjure gold. It's one of the rules of magic!” 

“Exactly.” Janus tapped the tip of his nose. “Right about now, his pockets are starting to feel a little lighter.” 

Harry laughed. “Serves him right! Not as if he told us anything useful.” 

“He confirmed that Moreaux was here. It's more than we knew for sure before.” Janus peeked around the corner before starting down the walkway again. 

The walkway narrowed as they continued, and Harry began to see more boarded-up buildings than open shops. The air smelled foul, like a sun-warmed restaurant dumpster. A witch wearing rags held out her hat for a coin, and Janus grabbed Harry's shoulder to pull him quickly past. On the other side of the street, two girls lifted their robes above their knees and blew kisses. 

“Steer clear,” Janus advised. “No one here is what they seem.” 

The walkway dead ended into a large building. The smell was worse here, but the building itself was in good repair with white stucco and dark brown trim. A wooden sign swung on chains above the door and read “The Silver Wolf.” On a stool beneath the sign, a vaguely humanoid creature perched, clutching the rungs of the stool with its toe talons and using its long, clawed fingers to turn the pages of a paperback. Tufts of hair sprouted from the creature's pointed ears, which twitched like those of a horse on a hot day. As Harry and Janus approached, the thing put its book away in a jacket pocket and flashed a point-toothed grin at Janus. 

Ignoring his own advice to “steer clear,” Janus clapped the monster on the back. “Carl!” he greeted. “Good book?” 

“Can't tell yet. I have to see if it has a happy ending.” The creature spoke in a deep, grainy voice that sent a shiver up Harry's spine. The only things about the being that didn't seem plucked from a nightmare were its eyes, which were large, dark, and rimmed with long white lashes. It blinked those eyes slowly as it looked from Harry to Janus and back. “You're not here to talk about books, though.” 

“No. Wish I were!” Janus glanced over his shoulder, perhaps looking for an angry apothecary, and then said, “We're here about the girl, the one they found yesterday--” 

“Jett.” The creature waved its hands in a complex gesture that Harry thought might be some sort of blessing. It then wiped at its eyes with the back of one paw. 

“Jett,” Janus repeated. “A regular, I take it?” 

The beast shook its head. “One of our performers. But you're wasting your time. I haven't seen her since... She isn't a ghost.” 

“Too bad,” Janus murmured. When Carl growled, Janus raised both hands, palms out. “I mean it's too bad we can't talk to her, not too bad she's resting in peace. Was anyone with her that night? Did she talk about meeting anyone, going anywhere?” 

“Jett always came in the back.” The creature dabbed at its eyes again. “The only person with her was Tawny, and...” It shrugged. 

“And?” Janus prompted. 

“Tawny hasn't said much. She's been holed up in her dressing room. It's through the back, third door on the left.” The monster jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go on in if you want to. I can watch the kid for you if you want.” 

“The kid stays with me, but thanks.” Janus reached for the doorknob but stopped with his hand on it. “Look, Carl, Jett was your friend?” The beast nodded, and Janus continued, “The man who killed her-- he'll get what's coming to him. I promise.” 

Harry followed Janus through the door. When it had clicked shut behind them, he whispered, “What was that?” 

“What was what?” Janus asked, navigating his way around the mostly unoccupied tables that scattered the oddly quiet main room. 

“That... thing outside, on the stool.” 

“That was Carl.” Janus glanced back at Harry with a puzzled frown. 

“Yes, but what was it?” Harry was wracking his brains thinking of various magical creatures, but none quite matched with what he had just seen. 

“The doorman.” 

“Yes, I guessed that much, but what... Never mind.” They had passed through a set of double doors at the rear of the common room, and now Janus stood in front of the third door on the left side of the hallway. 

“Tawny?” Janus called, knocking loudly on the door. There were sounds from the other side of the door, but they didn't sound like words to Harry. “Tawny, we're here to help.” Janus knocked again, and this time the sound was recognizable through the door as a growl. Harry envisioned a female of Carl's species, one who was angry at being intruded upon, and he gripped the end of his wand when Janus cast “Alohamora” and flung the door open. 

Harry had to move closer to see the room's occupant, who lay stretched across the floor, back to the wall. Instead of a person, or a person-like being, the creature was a striking female lion. Her ears lay back so that they were almost flat against her head, her black-tipped tail twitched, and her lips parted slightly to reveal teeth like small white daggers. The animal looked comically out of place in the tiny, closet-like room, which was dominated by a clothing rack filled with colorful costumes and a tiny table with a mirror hanging on the wall above it. 

“Is it-- is she an animagus?” Harry asked. He edged backward, his hand still on his wand. Animagus or not, the cat looked unhappy. 

Janus nodded. “She's a performer here. I'd seen her before, but I didn't know her name until today. She has this great act with another girl, she changes into a panther...” Janus trailed off and winced as if regretting his words. “That must have been Jett, huh?” He looked down at the cat. “Sorry.” 

The lion made a low growl in her throat, and her mouth opened further. Her golden eyes narrowed. 

“Janus thinks he knows the man who killed Jett,” Harry said quickly. “Otherwise we wouldn't bother you.” He knelt down so that he could look Tawny in the eyes and stifled an impulse to put out a hand for her to sniff. “This man-- he's attacked my friends, and he's tried to kill me, too, so if you know anything that can help us...” 

“What he's trying to say is I'm looking for the man so I can kill him,” Janus said. “If the aurors find him first, there's a chance he'll get sent back to Nurmengard, where he might escape again. I find him first, then there's no chance of that; there won't be enough left of him to leave a ghost.” 

The lion tilted her head and twitched her ears before rising to her feet. Her legs began to elongate, her shoulders contorted, and her fur seemed to retreat into the skin, though some of it was replaced with a silky red fabric. In seconds, the cat was gone, replaced by a blond woman in a short, red robe. Her nose was reddened, as if she had been crying. Smeared makeup rimmed her eyes, which to Harry's surprise, were still a gold color that almost matched her hair. 

“Sorry about the growling-- I wasn't going to bite you, honest! Sometimes it's just easier to be a cat,” Tawny explained, swiping at her face to move an errant strand of hair. She flashed a small smile that showed even white teeth. 

“I wasn't worried.” Janus smiled back at her. “But I do need your help, anything you can tell me.” 

“He was tall, hair down just past his shoulders, and I thought I'd seen him in here before, in the audience.” She frowned in concentration and closed her eyes. “He caught up with us as we were coming in the back, said he had a business proposition, which isn't that unusual for us. Not what you're thinking!” Her eyes flew open and she raised her chin as she looked from Harry to Janus. “Jett was no whore. We did security, mostly. And sometimes...” she flushed and looked down at her bare toes. “Children's birthday parties.”

Harry bit his lower lip to keep from chuckling as he envisioned a lion and a panther jumping through hoops or dancing on their hind legs for a gaggle of spoiled boys and girls with ice-cream melting onto their wizards' robes. 

“Did he say anything about where he was staying? Anything like, 'I just go here from such-and-such' or 'this place beats the food at so-and-so's', anything at all?” Janus prompted. 

“Jett told me to go on ahead. She was always the one with the business brains. She--” Tawny sniffled and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “She said I was a pushover when it came to negotiating pay.” 

“Did he say what the business was?” Harry asked. 

Tawny shook her head. 

“There was no business,” Janus said. “He was in the mood, and the girls were there. It's what he does; when he's not killing people for money, he kills them for free, especially when he's feeling…monstrous.” 

“If I'd have stayed...” Tawny took a deep, shuddering breath. “If I hadn't left Jett to fend for herself...” 

“Then you'd be dead, too, or we'd be having this conversation in Saint Mungo's. You didn't stand a chance against Phillipe Moreaux.” Janus sighed heavily. “There's nothing more you can tell us, nothing that could help us find him...” 

Tawny shook her head. “What am I supposed to do now? Jett was the one who took care of both of us.” 

Janus reached into his pocket and retrieved the slip of paper he had shown to the shopkeepers, along with a short stub of a pencil. He bent over the small table and scribbled something on it. After taking one of Tawny's hands, he pressed the paper into it and curled her fingers over it. “If you see Moreaux again, send an owl to this address immediately.”

“An owl?” She snorted. “I'll be too busy killing him for that. It's not like I don't have a few tricks up my sleeve! A girl has to, working in Knockturn Alley.” 

Janus opened his mouth to answer, Harry cut him off by saying, “Look, Tawny, who would you say was the stronger witch, you or Jett?” 

“Jett, of course! She's the one who taught me how to change. I'm not-- I'm not clever like she is-- was. Changing is the only thing I was ever good at, and it was 'cause of her.” She looked down at her feet again. “Right. He killed Jett, so me, I'll be no problem, is that what you're thinking?” 

“I'll be looking for that owl,” Janus said softly. 

“I'll be looking for Moreaux.” Tawny slipped the scrap of paper into the pocket of her robe. 

Janus left the room, pulling Harry with him. After the door had clicked shut, he murmured, “You, me, and everyone else.”


	32. A Chance To Be Useful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter itself is emotional as a few questions are answered and a few more are created.

Chapter 32: A Chance To Be Useful

 

“Janus!” Harry gasped as his breath caught in his side, creating a sharp pain around his ribs. 

After the conversation with Tawny, they had apparated back to the edge of the woods that surrounded Janus’ home. Harry had tried to keep in stride with the older wizard, but he had fallen behind as Janus had increased his pace while Harry had pressed him with questions about Phillipe Moreaux. 

Harry watched while Janus waved his wand at the back door and then briskly walked inside as the door opened. Harry’s nostrils flared with aggravation as he quickly made his way to the open door and inside the home. 

“Janus?” Harry called. He watched the wizard pick up a small, wrapped package that sat on the kitchen table. He walked to the table, as Janus stood reading the message that was tied to the wrapping. Several beads of sweat trickled around Harry’s temples, and he swiped at the edges of his face with his fingers. Harry slammed his hand on the surface of the table. “Janus! Answer me!” 

Slowly, Janus turned to face Harry and looked up from the paper in his hand. “Answers, Harry?” Janus pushed the hat off of his head and allowed it to rest behind his neck. 

“Yes, answers!” Harry replied as he followed Janus toward the living room, his arms folded across his chest. “If you’re going to drag me around to different places, then I deserve to know exactly why.” 

Janus opened the package, and held a yellow rubber duck in the palm of his hand.

“A rubber duck,” Harry replied, his voice oozing with sarcasm. “You’re a bit too old for taking baths with toys aren’t you?”

“Cute and witty, Harry.” Janus replied, smirking at the rubber duck. “But, once more, you’re not seeing the big picture.” Janus turned his wrist over and glanced at his watch. “Alright, I’ve got time to explain a few things to you.”

“Time until what?" Harry demanded. "Are we going somewhere else now?"

"Not 'we' this time, just me. I've got an errand to run, but it won't be until later, and it shouldn't take too long. Now, what is it you want to know?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, pondering what he most wanted to ask. Finally, he settled on, "What exactly did we learn from Tawny other than the obvious? If you want me to help you find Moreaux, then I deserve--" 

“Stop there, Harry!” Janus said as he placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Before you go and finish that thought, just please sit down for a moment. Janus placed the rubber duck inside the pocket of his duster and motioned for Harry to sit on the sofa.

He sat down beside Harry on the sofa, shifting his body so that he could look directly into Harry’s eyes. “First, we’ve confirmed that it was Moreaux. That means he's still out of Nurmenguard. The next point is to find out why, and how to stop him. Otherwise more people will be killed.”

“But we're no closer!” Harry groaned. “So he's been seen in Knockturn Alley; we still don't know where he's staying.” 

“True. I was hoping to find him the easy way, but it's not like I don't have an ace up my sleeve, or more accurately, a duck in my pocket.” Janus tapped the pocket of his coat. 

“And let me guess, you're not going to tell me what the duck is for.” 

“Sorry, no. Top secret WTF business. If I told you, well, you know...” He winked and grinned. 

Harry shook his head. “No, I don't know. I don't even know what the WTF is.”

“As far as I'm concerned, it's the P.T.B. Powers that be, Harry. Yes, the WTF is the Wizarding Task Force, kind of like your Ministry of Magic. We keep wizards from abusing their powers. Mostly, agents like me stay in the states, but the WTF likes to keep an eye on the situation over here, too. I convinced my boss that I was the man for the job, and was sent here to see who fills the power vacuum you created when you defeated Voldemort.” 

“So you're a spy?” Harry asked. 

Janus chuckled. “I prefer the term 'observer'.”

“No, you don't.” Harry snorted. “You like being mysterious and powerful and dramatic.” After a pause he added, “You're not here to-- to spy on me, are you?” 

Janus tensed and took a deep, audible breath before replying. “Look, I'd be lying if I said the WTF isn't interested in knowing what kind of man you are. You defeated the most powerful dark wizard in history, and then you disappeared for all intents and purposes. You think that doesn't make people nervous? You think they don't wonder what you're up to?” 

“Well, you can tell them I'm not plotting to-- how did you put it?-- fill the bloody power vacuum. I don't care about that. I just want to be left alone.” 

“I know,” Janus said softly. “I was never-- it's part of why they sent me, but it's not the reason why I came here. Harry, a long time ago I made a promise to Albus that if he ever needed my help, that he could call on me and I would do all that I could.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Albus visited me shortly after his terrible accident at the Gaunt house. It was at that moment that he told me about Severus and Draco. I was to watch you from afar, but I couldn't do anything until after you had killed Voldemort. He stressed that part in particular, because of the tasks that he had set for you. He kept saying that you had to complete them, in order to give the wizarding world a new hope. That’s why I’m here, Harry. It's why I pulled several strings to get this assignment. To not only find and bring Moreaux to justice, but to also help in protecting you.” Janus edged closer, put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and let it slide down his arm. He squeezed Harry's wrist briefly and then withdrew his hand, letting it rest on the cushion between them. 

“I don't need your protection!” Harry sighed in frustration. “As you said, I've already killed the most powerful dark wizard in history. I'm not afraid of Phillipe Moreaux! I can help you fight him--” 

“It's not your fight.” Janus' jaw twitched, and his eyes tightened. 

“What makes it yours?” When Janus looked away, Harry took him by the shoulder and turned him back. “Don't you dare say something clever or cryptic, and don't tell me it's a bloody secret. Not this time. You have a history with him. I want to know what it is.” 

Janus stared at Harry for a moment, studying the light green eyes, before he sighed deeply. “Yes, it’s true that Moreaux and I do share a past together. My parent’s ‘accident’ that I told you about, well, it wasn’t so much an accident as it was a murder.”

"I should have guessed," Harry murmured. "And you think it was Moreaux?"

“I know it was Moreaux. I was there. I saw it happen.”

“I'm sorry,” Harry said, cursing the words as they came out of his mouth. They sounded stupidly inadequate. He studied Janus' face, imaging him as a terrified seven year old boy. After scooting closer to Janus on the sofa, he asked, “How did you survive?”

“He allowed it. Letting me live after seeing what he was, what he'd done--he was leaving his mark.”

"His mark. You mean a curse, or a scar?"

Janus shook his head. “I meant a metaphor, but yeah, he left scars, too.” He pulled open his coat and raised his shirt, revealing a jagged line of white, puckered skin that started at his sternum and ended just above his naval. 

Without thinking Harry reached forward and lightly traced the scar. Janus tensed and shrank away, as if Harry's fingertips burned. “Sorry,” Harry whispered, jerking his hand back. 

“That wasn’t all. You see this area on my neck, here.” Janus raised his right hand to the area on the side of his neck. “Thankfully, it is not so easily seen, but it’s still there. As are the pain and memories that were given to me on that night.” 

Harry stared at the place on Janus’ neck and his fingers instantly traced the lightning-shaped scar on his own forehead. 

“Phillipe Moreaux made it personal that night. After he killed my parents he tore into me." Janus closed his eyes as the event played out in his memory. Upon opening his eyes, several tears rolled down his cheek, but his voice remained low and strong. “Then, after standing there watching me bleed, he attacked me like a rabid animal.” Janus' hand wrapped around his throat as if trying to staunch the blood from a remembered injury. “I tried to scream, but all I could feel was his body smothering me. I could smell him, that rotting, smoke-like smell. His breath was hot, and I could feel the searing pain in my neck and the warmth of my own blood as it stained the grass below me.”

“Janus…” Harry croaked. "You don't have to tell me more. I mean, if you don't want to--"

Janus shook his head. He stared straight ahead, seeming to look through Harry and seeing something else. “I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but all I could think about was the old movies where you see these killer dogs, and how they kill their prey by biting down around their necks.”

Not knowing what to say, Harry silently reached for Janus' hand and held it in both of his. 

“Finally, he got up and stood over me, panting and dripping my own blood onto me from his mouth. I kept asking 'why?'" Janus closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Did he answer?" Harry prompted.

Janus nodded. "He said, 'The question isn't why. It's what are you going to do about it?' From that moment on, my life has been nothing like it was before. I’ve even felt like a stranger in my own body at times after this new world was introduced to me. Even after I went back and tried to live in my old world, it was almost impossible because nothing seemed right. That was until I met Gabriel and Anna.”

Harry traced the back of Janus' hand with his fingers, thinking of the picture in the basement of the three young wizards and of Janus' story about Gabriel. 

He, uh, learned something from me, but he didn't want to learn how to control it... Having to kill someone you shared your life, your heart, and your soul with ... 

“It was Moreaux's legacy, the darkness he left inside of me, that put them in danger. It was my past coming back to haunt me, and I knew I had to stop it before I became just like Moreaux." Janus looked down at his hand, seeing it cradled between Harry’s hands. “And now once again, history is repeating itself. Except this time I won't let those that I care about be placed in harm’s way.” Janus brought his other hand and placed it on top of Harry’s. “That means you, Harry.” 

“No, Janus. I can help you. I can fight for you,” Harry pleaded, tightening his grip on Janus’ hands.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but we both know what it's like to grow up by the hand of someone else other than our true parents. We both know what it’s like to be marked for life. You've found your vengeance, but I haven’t.”

“Janus, please, if all you want is vengeance, it’s not worth it!” Harry got up from the sofa, his eyes filling with tears. “Look what killing Voldemort has done for me! Look how my life is! Just about everyone that I'm friends with has died, or has had someone die fighting for me,” Harry sobbed as he turned on the spot and began to weep openly.

Janus rose and walked over to Harry, gently touching his arms as the tears exploded from Harry’s eyes. “I hate him, Janus. Voldemort! I hate him! It’s not fair that he’s dead, and I have to be alive and go through all of this pain!”

Slowly, Janus eased Harry around and allowed the young wizard to melt into his chest. He softly stroked Harry’s hair as the emotions and sobs came from the Gryffindor. “I know, Harry. I know,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. “But, I need for you to be strong for me.” He edged closer to the couch and sat down, pulling Harry with him.

“And that's all I'm asking!” Harry's arms were still around Janus, and he could feel one of Janus' hands slowly stroking his back. He rested his forehead against Janus' jaw, noticing the skin felt like sandpaper from the day's accumulation of stubble. He wondered what he was doing, and where this would lead. His feelings for Janus were strange and new, not quite what he felt for Draco, and not quite what he had felt for Sirius or Remus, but something in between. “I want to be strong for you, to fight for you. I don't-- I don't want to lose you, too.” 

“You won't.” Janus' arms tightened momentarily, and he tucked his chin over the top of Harry's head. “Look, I didn't tell you all of this to worry you or to get you to--” He sighed heavily. “Just have a little faith, ok? Before you know it, you can help me celebrate my victory. We'll go down the Silver Wolf, tell Tawny the good news... It'll be over. For all of us.” 

Harry shook his head, unable to share Janus' optimism. “Why didn’t you tell me all of this in the first place? Why the secrets?”

Janus shrugged. “I am sorry, Harry. I guess when I’ve been doing what I have for the last ten years, keeping secrets just becomes habit. Plus, seeing you and Draco together was the last thing that I was expecting.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else,” Harry replied.

“Yes.” Janus chuckled. “After what Dumbledore told me about Draco, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see you and him joined at the hip.” 

“Well, you don't have to see that anymore,” Harry said bitterly.

“Good. Seeing you with Draco, it was like watching a kid play with matches. And lighter fluid. And his dad's welding torch. While sitting on a bale of hay.” 

“Draco isn't dangerous. If you ask him, you're the one who's dodgy.” Harry lowered one hand and squeezed Janus' knee. 

“He's not wrong.” Janus moved his hand to Harry's shoulder and pushed him away until they were far enough apart to look each other in the eye. “One thing I have to know before I leave... Do you still love Draco?” 

Harry flinched and felt a surge of irritation. For Janus, of all people, to be getting jealous was absurd. “I--” he began. 

“It's important,” Janus prompted. 

“We're not getting back together! He made that clear. He's too afraid of what everyone thinks--”

“That's not what I'm asking!” Janus growled. “Answer the question.”

Harry deeply sighed. “Yes! I always will. I can't just make myself stop, I--”

Janus nodded. “That's all I needed to know. It means I have to protect him, too.”

“From what?” Harry asked, alarmed. 

“From anything.” Janus stood, taking Harry by the elbows and pulling him to his feet as well. “It's about time for me to leave on that errand, and no, I'm not going to meet Moreaux tonight, and no, you can't come with me.” 

“More secrets,” Harry complained. He let his hands move to Janus' waist and slide around to the small of his back, under the duster but outside of his shirt. The closeness felt amazing, and he didn't want it to end. He leaned close to Janus, noticing how their equal height made their bodies align perfectly. “When you get back, I'll be waiting,” he promised, flushing when he realized how lame that sounded. “I mean, not just because of the wards. It's because this is where I want to be right now. With you.” 

“Actually...” Janus trailed off, letting the word hang in the air. He used one hand to hold onto Harry's left elbow and the other to reach into his pocket and retrieve his wand. Before Harry could take another breath, the warm, exciting sensation of holding Janus was replaced by the nauseating disorientation of apparition. 

\--------------------------------------

 

“The Burrow?” Harry asked as he released Janus and spun on the spot after the two had apparated beside Arthur Weasley’s workshop. “What are we doing here?” 

Janus wheeled around to face Harry. “It’s…for your own good, Harry.” 

“But...the Weasley’s?” Harry asked raising his hand toward the looming home. “What about me placing them in danger by being here?”

A slight edge crept into Janus’ voice. “That’s a risk that I’ll have to take.”

“Your risk?” Harry asked as he closed the space between the two, so close that their noses almost touched. “And what about me? What about my risk? What of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s risk?”

Janus stepped back as he raised his hand up to stop Harry’s temper. “Harry, please, I don’t need an argument from you right now. Just trust me. It's safer for you here. This is where you're staying until the trial.”

“Funny. That's what you said about your house when you were dragging me and Draco there.” 

“Yeah, that was before.” Janus scratched at the back of his head. 

“Before what? Your little sleepwalking episode? You said my bedroom was warded. Was that another lie?” 

“The wards only work if you stay in your own bedroom,” Janus snapped. “Were you planning on doing that? Look, that's not even the point. It's not what I'd do in my sleep that worries me. I'm not a saint, Harry. I'm not going to kiss you on the cheek and tell you I could never take advantage of you. If you had stayed tonight--”

“I know what would have happened!” Harry interrupted. 

“Then you know why you're staying here. Look, if you need me, I mean, if you need my help, you can send an owl to my contact. Arthur knows the address. If it's an emergency, you can apparate to the house as long as you don't try to land inside the wards.” 

“Fine!” Harry huffed as he walked past Janus, intentionally brushing into him with his shoulder. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Janus sighed and began walking toward the Burrow as the kitchen door opened. Arthur and Molly Weasley hurried out to greet their guests, wands at the ready.

“Janus? Merlin’s Beard! Our sneak-o-scope alerted us to someone outside. We didn’t expect it to be you and Harry!” Arthur Weasley said as he quickly shook hands with Janus, then Harry.

“Arthur. I’m sorry to approach you and Molly like this, but I need to leave Harry here.”

Arthur Weasley leaned left, then right and turned his head in a wide arc, frowning. “Where’s Draco? Isn’t he with you and Harry?”

“He’s safe right now,” Janus assured him. “I need to speak to you inside, Arthur.”

“Of course, please come in,” Arthur extended his hand toward the Burrow and clapped Janus on the shoulder as they advanced toward the open door. 

Molly Weasley had already led Harry inside the kitchen, and Janus paused in the doorway, watching as Ron came bounding down the stairs taking them two at a time.

“Harry!” Ron shouted as he embraced Harry in a bear hug, and continued on until Molly forced her youngest son to let go. 

“Ron!” Molly sassed. “Give Harry some air.” Ron stepped back, apologizing while Harry assured him that all was well. Ron quickly glanced from Harry to Janus, and back to Harry, noticing Harry’s small nod of the head.

“Ron,” Arthur said, “take Harry and get him settled in, son.”

“Yes, Dad.” Ron said. “Come on, Harry.” 

Janus watched as both young wizards made their way upstairs, but not before catching a look from Harry that showed his dissatisfaction at Janus’ decision. Janus quickly forced the thought out of his mind as he began to speak to Arthur and Molly Weasley.

“Again, I'm sorry, but I had no other place to bring Harry.” Janus began, but was stopped by Arthur Weasley. 

“Harry is a part of our family. He is always welcome here,” Arthur stated. “What’s this all about, Janus?”

The dark shadow passed over Janus’ eyes as he answered. “Moreaux.” He paused, slightly shifting his weight from each leg as the Weasley’s awaited his answer. “I…I have reliable information about him, or at least how to find him.”

“The Ministry is doing--“ Arthur began.

“Arthur, please!” Janus pleaded, holding his hand up to stop Arthur. “For all we know, the Ministry could be responsible for him! You both read the Prophet! You know about the witch that was murdered. I spoke--“

“Janus!” Molly scolded, wagging her finger at him. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You must be more careful. The Ministry knows about you, and if Moreaux is somehow connected to them, then it places you at a considerable danger.”

“I know that, Molly, but there is another part to it all,” Janus said as he interlinked his fingers. “Lucius Malfoy!” He whispered. 

Molly Weasley gasped as Arthur mouthed the name. “Are you sure?” Arthur asked aloud after Janus nodded to his question. “That does complicate things.” 

“Lucius will get what’s coming to him, but the Minister must know about Moreaux’s connection with him.” Janus pulled the floppy hat over his head, as he strode to the door. “Take care of Harry for me. Make sure he gets to the trial.” 

“What of Draco and Narcissa?” Molly Weasley stepped forward to stand beside her husband as Janus stepped out the door.

“They're safe with Andromeda.” He turned to walk away, but was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Janus!” Arthur said. “If it’s Moreaux that you're going after, then remember this. Before setting out on revenge, you first dig two graves.” 

“One way or another, Arthur, he will pay for everything that he’s done,” Janus whispered as he stepped away from Arthur.

“Avenging your parents won’t bring them back,” Arthur replied, his blue eyes staring into Janus.

“The dead don’t care about vengeance, but I do.” 

“And in doing so you become exactly what Moreaux is. How disappointed Remus would be with you.”

“You’re wrong, Arthur,” Janus backed away, shaking his head. He pictured a photo of his parents, simultaneously recalling what he could of their real faces. He remembered his first night back in Britain, when he had met Yuri at the Silver Wolf and had watched Tawny dance with Jett. “Evil flourishes when good men do nothing. Remus would want me to fight. Goodbye, Arthur. Goodbye, Molly.” 

“Remus would have found a different way,” Arthur said as he watched Janus spin out of sight. 

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Ron paused at the top of the stairs and put a finger to his lips to silence Harry. Voices drifted up the stairwell, but Harry couldn't make out the individual words. Ron shook his head in frustration and grimaced. “Mum and Dad confiscated the extendable ears,” he explained. “And they've learned that you can't hear what goes on in the living room from up here, so they don't talk in the kitchen anymore.” 

“It doesn't matter. Janus won't be any more honest with Arthur or Molly than he was with me.” Harry turned his back on the stairwell and made his way to the twins' room, Ron following behind him. 

“Is that why you're back?” Ron asked, taking a seat on the bunk underneath the window while Harry perched on the opposite bed. “Not that it's not good to see you.” 

“I--” Before Harry could begin its explanation, the door swung open, revealing Hermione and Ginny. The broad grin on Hermione's face made Ginny's scowl look even darker in comparison. 

Harry stood, briefly embraced Hermione, and nodded to Ginny as he did so. 

Ginny swept her eyes over the room and raised an eyebrow. “Where's your partner in crime, Harry?” she asked. 

“She's referring to that awful article in the Daily Prophet,” Hermione added, shooting Ginny a look of disapproval. “It was pure gossip, and I doubt anyone even read it—” 

“I did,” Harry said quietly. 

“So, where is he?” Ginny leaned on the door jamb. 

“With Andromeda. It's where he'll stay until after the trial, then I suppose it's back to Malfoy Manor for him and Grimmauld place for me.” 

“Not surprising.” Ginny's mouth twitched as if she were trying not to smile. 

“He could come to his senses,” Hermione said brightly. 

Ron laughed. “Are you kidding? It's Malfoy we're talking about. He doesn't have any senses to come to. Harry's better off without him!” 

“There are more important things to worry about!” Harry snapped. He was torn between defending Draco and agreeing with Ron, and neither idea would be productive, especially not with Ginny in the room. When Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all fixed their eyes on him, he continued, “Janus and I have proof Moreaux is alive. He killed a girl in Knockturn Alley, and we spoke to her friend. She described him perfectly. So did the apothecary.” 

Ginny cursed, paced back into the hall, returned to the doorway, and pounded her fist against the door jamb, swearing again. “I should have finished the job!” 

“Yeah, but how could we have known?” Ron asked. “That chandelier must have weighed a ton!” 

“We should have taken him to the Ministry,” Hermione said quietly. “The girl he killed-- if we knew more about her, we might be able to guess who he's working for now that Lucius is locked away.” 

“She was--” Harry bit his tongue before saying “nobody” and finished “-- a performer at the Silver Wolf pub. Janus thinks Moreaux killed her on his own time, not for a job.” 

Ginny frowned. “He couldn't know that, unless he knows more about Moreaux than he's letting on.” 

“It's his personal vendetta,” Harry explained. “Phillipe Moreaux killed Janus' parents, and he's been obsessed with him ever since. You could say Moreaux is the one person Janus is connected to.” 

“Is that why he sent you back here?” Hermione asked. 

Harry shrugged. “I'm tired of trying to figure out why Janus does anything! He keeps a secret potions dungeon in his cellar, he climbed out a broken window in his bedroom, he got a rubber ducky in the mail, and when I ask him questions, he tells stories about having a sleep disorder or working as an agent for the WTF!” 

“What's a sleep disorder?” Ginny asked at the same time Ron said “What's a rubber ducky?” and Hermione murmured, “So he's the American equivalent of an auror, then.” 

Caught up in the moment, Harry continued, “He's got enough protection wards to make a paranoid lunatic happy, right down to his stupid coat and hat, he hates Draco, he lectures me like he's a bloody guru, then just when I thought we were... friends, he leaves to go on a fool's errand.”

“Sounds like an interesting four days,” Ron observed, his tone carefully neutral. 

“That's not the word for it!” Harry leaned back against the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I just wish he would let me help! Moreaux tried to kill me, too—” 

“He's tried to kill everyone in this room,” Ginny interrupted. “Did your friend go to the Ministry with the news from Knockturn Alley?” 

Harry shrugged again and threw up his hands. “He's been exchanging letters with someone he calls his 'Ministry contact,' but I don't think he trusts the Ministry. He says someone let Moreaux out of Nurmenguard.” 

“Maybe Janus did,” Ginny offered. “If he's as crazy as you say he is...” 

“I didn't say he was crazy!” Harry raised his hands and shook his head. “And he would never do something like that.” 

“So all we know is that Moreaux is alive,” Hermione summarized. “And you can be sure he knows where to find us.” 

“I hope he does,” Ginny said with venom. “There are six of us in this house and no Malfoys to get in the way this time.”

“Yeah, all the same,” Ron mused. “I think I'd rather Janus caught up to him first. I kind of like our house in one piece.” 

“I kind of like Janus in one piece,” Harry countered. 

“You don't think he's powerful enough to beat Moreaux, do you?” Hermione asked. 

“That depends. How do you fight a dark wizard with a rubber duck?” 

\------------------------------------------

“Draco.” 

At the sound of his name, Draco startled, dropping the book he'd been reading. It was a boring book, anyway, having belonged to Nymphadora. The story revolved around a misfit teenager with a group of equally inept friends, and it involved equal parts whining and battling ultimate evil. He had continued turning the pages only because he kept hoping that ultimate evil would get in a blow here or there, and he wasn't at all disappointed to be interrupted. 

After folding the corner to mark his place, he looked up to see his mother in the doorway of the den. “Someone is here to see you,” she said. 

“Someone?” Draco felt his mouth go dry, and his stomach jumped inside him as if he were riding a broomstick that had just taken a sudden plunge. It had to be Harry, and even though he didn't want to see the Gryffindor today, or ever, he found himself slipping past his mother and racing to the front door. 

When he saw who was leaning in the doorway, he muttered a curse under his breath. “You-- I should have guessed!” 

“Nice to see you again, Draco!” Janus grinned and pushed back the brim of his hat. “Your aunt here--” he jerked a thumb at Andromeda, who stood nearby, “-- she says I can borrow you for a while this evening.” 

“I'm not hers to loan out!” Draco snarled. 

“Too bad, because Harry really wants to see you.” Janus sighed theatrically. 

“I'm sure he does.” Draco snorted and tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes. He waited, expecting Janus to turn around and leave, but the man folded his arms and leaned on the door jamb. After a long, irritating silence, Draco said, “Why?” 

“Dunno.” Janus shrugged. “But it seemed pretty important.” 

“For the love of Merlin, Draco!” Andromeda crossed the room, put her hand in the middle of his back and pushed him toward Janus so that he stumbled forward. “Go! Do what you like after the trial. If you want to be a fool then, I'll say nothing of it. But now, now you need Harry!” 

“And I used to wonder why they put you in Slytherin.” Janus winked at Andromeda, who scowled. 

“She's right.” Narcissa's voice came from his left, and Draco soon found himself in the center of a triangle formed by his mother, his aunt, and Janus. “Without his help...” She spread her hands and looked down at them, shaking her head. 

“As if he would let me go to Azkaban just because I-- because we-- because we're not-- He wouldn't let something like that matter. He's too bloody noble for that! He probably couldn't live with himself if he did.” Draco sneered, imagining Harry on his knees, weeping with regret. 

“You don't think so?” Janus tilted his head to one side as if considering a surprising proposition. “You might be right. I guess you do know Harry pretty well.” 

“He's a Gryffindor. I don't have to know him; they're all the same.” 

“And you're a Death Eater. Seems someone like Harry would want someone like you behind bars where he couldn't do any more damage than he already has. Unless, of course, he has a reason not to.” Janus fingered his chin. 

“So he sent you here to blackmail me?” Draco demanded. 

“No!” Janus shook his head forcefully. “No. He just-- he's been in bad shape since you left.” 

“Really? Because I've been enjoying myself here.” Draco raised both arms in an expansive gesture. 

Andromeda laughed, and Narcissa put a hand over her mouth, though Draco could tell by her eyes that she was covering a smile. The two sisters shared a look across the room, and then Andromeda raised an eyebrow while Narcissa shook her head. 

“You've been impossible!” Andromeda growled. “Cissy won't say it, of course, but I will. You might as well be in Azkaban already with how you act! All you can talk about is Harry, and do we need to discuss this morning?” 

“No,” Draco murmured at the same time Narcissa said, “It's true, Draco, you have been out of sorts, lately, not yourself at all. You hardly touched your dinner last night, and--” 

“Alright! I'll go!” Draco shouted, throwing up his hands. Ashamed at having conceded defeat, he added, “But only if I get my wand back when I leave.” 

“Fair enough,” Janus agreed. He looked from Andromeda to Narcissa and said solemnly, “I'll have him back in one piece. You have my word.” 

Andromeda snorted. “Keep him if you like.” 

“Andromeda!” Narcissa protested. 

Draco pushed past Janus and was halfway down the walkway when he heard the front door close, cutting off the sound of Narcissa and Andromeda's banter. The two seemed to be making up for the lost time they had spent disowning each other, and cheerful ribbing made Draco sick. It was almost like staying at the Burrow. He jumped when Janus grabbed his arm, although of course he had been expecting it. 

“Hold on tight!” Janus warned, flourishing his wand. 

A moment later, they stood under a street lamp at the mouth of a narrow alley between two brick buildings. Draco staggered in a circle, trying to get his bearings. The place looked somewhat familiar, although nothing like Janus' house or the village nearby. 

“Where are we?” he demanded. “And where's Potter?” 

“We're where we need to be. And Harry is safe. He's at the Burrow.” Janus moved to stand between Draco and the opening of the alley. With the streetlight shining from behind him, he was nothing more than a dark silhouette. A breeze ruffled the tails of his duster so that they swirled like the robes of a dementor. 

“I knew this was some trick--” Draco began. 

“No, you didn't. Incarcero.” Janus pointed his wand, and Draco stumbled as conjured ropes jerked his wrists behind his back and encircled his ankles. 

Draco fell on his side, his head hitting the concrete hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Flopping like a worm, he managed to rise to his knees and shuffle toward the wall, which he leaned against in order to regain his feet. 

“What have you done with Potter?” Draco demanded. He rubbed his bonds furiously against the rough brick. 

Janus stepped back into the alley so that the light hit him from the side and Draco could make out his face. “Nothing. I told you, he's at the Burrow.”

“I don't believe you!” Draco threw himself forward, hoping to knock Janus to the ground. If he could manage to separate the man from his wand, he might have a chance. 

Unfazed, Janus sidestepped Draco and caught him by the arm as he fell forward. “Careful, now! I wouldn't want to deliver bruised merchandise.” 

“What is it you want with me? If it's money, I'm the heir to Malfoy Manor! I can match any offer. My father has enough in Gringots to--” 

“It's not money.” Janus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, yellow object which he tossed back and forth between his hands. “I'm giving you something no one else has, Draco-- a chance to be useful.” 

Draco stared at the yellow object, wondering if it was some sort of weapon. He reeled, struggling to keep his balance as his feet started to go numb under him. “And what if I don't want to be useful?” 

“Doesn't much matter what you want; that's how it works when you're the one tied up.” 

“What is that thing?” Draco jerked his chin toward the bright yellow object and then glanced behind him, hoping to see someone, anyone, coming toward the alley. If he could stall Janus long enough, maybe someone would see them and call for help. 

“Portkey,” Janus said cheerfully. He held up the object in his left hand and waved it near Draco's face. 

Upon closer inspection, Draco could see that the thing was vaguely bird shaped with beady black eyes and a painted orange bill. 

“Yes, but what is it?” Draco asked. 

Janus cocked his head, frowning as if puzzled. “You mean you've never seen a rubber ducky?” 

“A rubber what?” 

“You know, Bert and Ernie, singing in the tub, mom's way of convincing little kids that baths are fun?” Janus turned the bird to face himself and then pointed its beak at Draco once more. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about!” Draco hopped backwards, placing himself directly under the streetlight where he would be most visible to anyone passing by. 

“You wizard kids and your deprived childhoods!” Janus squeezed the toy, eliciting an unpleasant squeak that startled Draco and made him jump back. He would have fallen, if Janus hadn't reached out to catch him by the elbow again. 

“Where does the portkey go?” Draco wriggled, trying to break free of Janus' grip, but as before, the man had freakish strength. 

“You'll see. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, but first this package needs a little wrapping.” Janus let go of Draco, took a few steps back, and drew his wand, still holding the obnoxious squeaking bird in his other hand. He pointed the wand at Draco, murmured a quiet incantation, and Draco shivered as a tingling sensation swept from his scalp to his toenails. 

“What did you do to me?” 

“Made it so I don't have to watch you blubbering.” Janus walked around Draco in a circle, nodding to himself in satisfaction. 

“I'm not crying,” Draco spat. “I'm not afraid of you. All you ever do is make idle threats. If you wanted me dead, or worse, you would have done it by now.” He had the nagging feeling that something in his lower field of vision was wrong, and he glanced down to find that he could see the pavement through his feet. In fact, his entire body was missing, or more accurately, cloaked in an invisibility spell. 

“Huh. Maybe you do have me pegged.” Janus moved to stand behind Draco and seized his bound wrists. “You're right; I'm not going to hurt you.” 

“Then let me go!” Draco thrashed his head back, hoping to slam it into Janus' face. He jerked his arms, and when that failed, he let his knees buckle and fell forward, bringing Janus down on top of him. His face scraped the pavement, stinging and bringing forth the scent of blood. As he fought to throw Janus off of him, he screamed for help, not caring that his voice rose in pitch so that he sounded like a little girl. If he could just get free, the invisibility spell would work in his favor. Even hopping on his bound feet, he could keep Janus guessing. He continued to shout, alternating between curses and wordless shrieks. 

“That's enough of that,” Janus murmured. “Silencio!” 

Draco drew a breath so deep his lungs felt as if they would burst and let out a scream that burned his throat with its force. No sound came out, and even as he gasped for breath afterward, there was silence. 

Janus wrenched himself to his feet, pulling Draco with him. He looped one of his arms through Draco's, ignoring Draco's continued struggle. Raising the yellow duck in his free hand, he said, “For what it's worth, Malfoy, not even you deserve this.” 

The world blurred. Draco felt like a caught fish being reeled in by an invisible hook. Before he could draw enough breath for another silent scream, the world was still again, as well as dim and cold. They were in some sort of chamber with a high ceiling and dark walls. He craned his neck and saw a set of stone steps leading up to a dais with a crumbling stone archway.

“You're going to—” Draco began before remembering that Janus had silenced him. “Didn't want to hear my last words, did you?” He braced himself, expecting to be dragged up the stairs and shoved through the archway. He could hear a faint whispering coming from the other side. Was it Voldemort, howling at him for his failure? Aunt Bella laughing at him? Crabbe cursing Draco for letting him die in the Room of Requirement? He wondered if they were able to watch him from the afterlife, if they had seen him with Harry. At least the shame couldn't kill him once he was on the other side. 

The sound of slow, shuffling footsteps came from behind him, accompanied by a metallic rattle. Janus held Draco by the wrists and spun him around, gripping harder when Draco saw who had made the sounds. The sight spurred him to a frantic, futile struggle. 

“Back empty handed?” Lucius said, sneering at Janus. “It's a pity. I was going to tell you exactly where Moreaux is staying.” 

“I keep my promises,” Janus said flatly. “Homenum revelio.”


	33. The Better Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down, and another chapter to go! LOL! This chapter while not extremely long, is a good tense chapter that crackles with anticipation.

Chapter 33: The Better Man

 

The words echoed throughout the chamber as Draco felt the cool trickling feeling wash over his body. A glance down showed him his now-visible hands, still tied together with Janus' conjured ropes. Shame surged through him at the thought of his father seeing him bound and humiliated, and rage quickly followed. He thrashed with all of his strength, but his efforts only made Janus squeeze harder on his upper arms. Once the pain became unbearable, he allowed himself to go limp, conserving his strength for any moment of opportunity that might come.

"And here you are, at last." Lucius sneered as he stepped forward, his iron bindings jingling their metallic song with each step. 

A silent cry of surprise escaped Draco's throat as he felt Janus release his grip. Hopping on his bound feet, Draco clambered up several steps until he was out of Lucius' reach.

Panting heavily, Draco's narrowed his eyes as he saw Janus laughing. He spat a string of obscenities at the American, but like his earlier calls for help, his insults made no sound.

Janus jerked a thumb in Draco's direction. "Don't worry Luc, he's not going anywhere."

"What's wrong with him, why can't he speak?" Lucius demanded. "What have you done to him? Or is this some trick, a simulacrum--"

"Calm down! That's the bona fide Draco Malfoy, and I haven't done anything to him, other than a silencing spell. Even you have to agree that it's an improvement."

Draco watched as Janus turned to face him and waved his wand. The next breath Draco took came out loud and rasping. He muttered a string of curses directed at both Janus and his father. 

"Alright now, Draco, you just stay there while your father and I conduct our business," Janus grinned while pocketing his wand. "Don't go wandering around; we wouldn't want you to have an accident just yet." 

Relieved to hear his own voice, Draco narrowed his eyes even more as he felt his cheeks burning with anger. "Bastard!" He watched as Janus smiled. 

"Yep, nothing wrong with him," Janus commented as he sat down on the bottom stone step. Draco's eyes found Lucius, and the two shared a brief, intense stare before Lucius focused his attention on Janus. 

Draco's mind raced. He scanned the darkness above as his eyes tried to find the doors that led to the exterior of the chamber. 

I know of this room. It's the Death Chamber inside the Ministry of Magic. Why would they keep Father here? No matter, I have to find a way out!

Swearing under his breath, the thought dawned upon him that even if he tried to make it to one of the doors, Janus would curse him before he got anywhere close to them. With his first idea scuttled, his brain proceeded onto the next plan of action.

"Father," he whispered to himself. He glanced up to make sure that neither had heard him. "Father wouldn't be a threat to me, not as he is right now. It's Janus. I have to somehow get his wand." He relaxed his wrists and hands, and tried desperately to slide them past each other and through the bonds. If he had a free hand, he could reach into Janus' pocket, but the ropes were too tight, and his efforts only brought him pain.

Accio? No, that's too simple. I'd have to disarm him first before the wand would respond to me.

"Damn!" Draco hoarsely whispered.

Somehow I have to get his wand!

Draco's thoughts ran in circles as he hopped along the cold stone stairs, edging further away from Janus and Lucius. Distance would buy him time, but for what? On his next jump backwards, his heel caught on something, and he fell back, twisting just in time to avoid hitting his head on the floor.

Sitting up, he twisted until his hands touched the object that had tripped him. A loose stone had come partway up, and as he pressed it, the stone moved. He strained to stretch his fingers around it and was able to gain a firm grip and pull. The remaining mortar had held the stone in place crumbled, and the rock came free.

Draco hefted the stone in his hands. It had a satisfying weight to it; if his hands were free, he could throw it at Janus and crack the man's skull. With his hands bound, however, he couldn't swing his arm back far enough to get the necessary momentum. He would have to get close in order to have a chance.

It's my only choice. One strong enough blow to the back of his neck would do the job. At least long enough for me to grab his wand. 

Draco thought as his eyes bore into Janus' back while he fingered the stone, pressing against its sharp edges.

But, what about Father? Will he give away the surprise attack, if I can make it behind Janus without being heard?

"It's a chance that I have to take," Draco whispered. In his mind, the whole event played out before him. He envisioned himself quietly sneaking down behind Janus and bludgeoning him on the back of his head with the stone. Then he would take his wand and incapacitate him, before turning the wand on his father. Once that was done, he would find the portkey that Janus used and apparate out of the chamber. The whole plan seemed foolproof and perfect. It would work. It had to work.

Draco sneered as he tightened the grip around the stone in his hands. "I might even give Janus the killing curse that he deserves." Draco's heartbeat increased while his breathing became deeper. He began to make his way down the steps by first lowering his feet and then dragging the rest of his body. 

He silently edged closer to Janus. With each step closer, Draco's senses protested that Janus would turn around and see him at the last second. Silently, feet became inches, and Draco gripped the stone as hard as he could, preparing to swing with every ounce of strength that was in his body. He rose to his feet, reeling for a moment as he fought to gain his balance. Gripping the stone in his bound hands, he raised it over his right shoulder and prepared to swing. As he tensed his muscles, his gaze flitted to his father's face, and their eyes met. 

Father's seen me!

Draco heard his own voice inside of his head. His eyes focused back to his target as Janus began to move. A yell came from Draco’s lungs as he swung with all of his might, and felt the impact of the stone when it crumbled into smaller pieces after smashing down upon the back of Janus' neck. 

Draco heard the breath leave Janus' lungs, as his eyes briefly connected with the glazed, hazel eyes. Janus' pupils widened as he slumped to the floor. Draco knelt, reached into the duster jacket and withdrew Janus' wand. Turning on the spot, he pointed the wand at Lucius, holding it in both hands. The tip of the wand sparked as it sensed the anger coursing through Draco's touch.

"Stay right where you are, Father!" Draco shouted. "I knew that if I knocked him out that you would try for his wand, but this time I was a step ahead of you."

Lucius stood in place, studying Draco, before a hint of a sneer crossed his lips. Tilting his head up, and jutting out his chin, Lucius began to clap slowly. "Bravo! Bravo, son!" Lucius said as the sound of his clapping and the accompanying rattle of the manacles ceased. "I must say that I'm somewhat impressed." Draco watched as Lucius gazed at the unconscious form of Janus. "However, real wizards do not resort to smashing other wizards with rocks or stones. That is better left for barbaric Muggles."

"Shut up!" Draco shouted as his grip tightened around the wand. "I did what I had to do." 

"And now what are you going to do, hmm?" He raised his hands in front of him, fully exposing the iron manacles. "Are you going to kill an unarmed wizard?" 

"Yes." Draco answered, his pale blue eyes staring down the length of the wand, while sweat moistened the palms of his hands. Holding the wand steady, he struggled to his feet and jumped backwards, out of Lucius' reach. Focusing his energy through the wand, he freed his hands and feet with a quick, silent spell.

"Well, go ahead. Kill me," Lucius let his hands drop in front of him. "Speak those two little words and allow the anger to course through your blood. Say them, Draco, and become what it is that you have always been destined to become--a killer!"

Draco edged closer towards Lucius now almost within an arm’s length of him, but still far enough away from his father's reach. He hastily wiped a tear away from his face with his left hand, while holding the wand with his right hand. "Father, you tried to kill me the last time that we were together. If anyone is a killer, it would be you!" 

"You damned, rotten--"

"I'm damned!" Draco yelled, his voice quickly becoming high pitched. "Just because I try to be something more than you; you say that I’m damned. No! I have a purpose in this existence, and it isn't to kiss up to some Dark Lord's arse, or to do his dirty work."

"How dare you, Draco!" Lucius growled. "Your dirty work involves Potter! You can sink no lower than degrading yourself with the likes of him! You could have had everything in the world, but now you'll only have suffering and disappointment." 

"That's something that you won't have to be concerned about, Father! This isn't about Potter anymore. I'm finished with him!" Draco tightened his stance, and thrust out his own chin. "Just like I'm about to be finished with you."

Draco's fingers twitched as the words flashed repeatedly in his brain, urging his mouth to say them. Draco's tongue whetted his lips in anticipation of saying them. "Farewell, Father!" The words were there. The decision had been made. Regardless of what other people would call him, Draco Malfoy had decided. His lips began to move, his fingers coiled around the wand, he felt the years of anger and hatred billowing up from inside him. Draco Malfoy was going to become a killer.

"Draco! Draco! I can see into your heart!"

Draco flinched as the raspy voice of Voldemort called from beyond the veil. Fear flooded Draco's mind as the voice echoed the statement. "No!" Draco shouted as he backed against the dais, shaking his head violently. "No, you're dead!” 

“Draco! You watched as I died in the Room of Requirement! You could have saved me, but you let me burn!"

Draco turned to face the veil, half-expecting to see Crabbe's seared corpse pointing a charred finger of blame. When no specter appeared, he whirled to face Lucius once more and then leaped backward as his father lunged for him.

"You wouldn't even look into my eyes as he killed me!" The dead voice of Charity Burbage whispered from the veil.

"No! No! Stop it! You're dead! You're all dead!" Draco screamed at the veil. Desperate to get away from the voices, he jumped erratically, moving backwards and sideways. Lucius shuffled toward him, chains rattling. Draco's feet landed on something soft, and he fell, slamming hard onto the stone steps. A moment later, he felt a strong arm lift him from the floor of the room. "No, please don't kill me, please! Just make the voices go away!"

"Draco! Draco!" A hard slap across his face brought Draco back from the recesses of his mind and into the present. Janus held Draco's arm with a vice-like grip. Realizing that he had lost control of his plan, Draco scanned for the wand, only to see it in Janus' right hand.

"You stand right there, and don't even think about moving a muscle! Because if you do, so help me, I'll curse you right between your pretty little eyes. And you--" Janus gestured at Lucius with the wand "-you stay back!" He rubbed his free hand across the back of his neck and glared at Draco. "What the hell did you hit me with?"

Draco glanced at a tiny piece of the stone that lay on the ground. "Doesn't matter now."

Janus winced as he touched the back of his neck. "It sure as hell matters to me. You're not the one with a lump on the back on your head. Guess that'll teach me to let you out of my sight." He stared at Draco for a few seconds further before flicking the wand. "Immobulus." He turned back to Lucius. "Now," back to our business."

"Indeed so," Lucius spoke as he sat back down on the steps, his eyes locked with Draco's.

"It's time for you to complete your part of the agreement," Janus said.

"What agreement?" Draco interrupted, struggling to move against the power of the spell. "I knew it! I knew that you couldn't be trusted. You're a liar, just like I said you were!"

Janus glared at Draco, and a small growl escaped his throat. "Another sound from you, and I'll make it so you never speak again!"

Lucius raised his eyebrow at the remark, before speaking up. "Ah, yes, children. A few seconds of joy at birth, but a lifetime of misery after that."

"Focus on the situation at hand, Lucius," Janus said. "Moreaux. Where is he?"

"Business as usual, I see. No time for any chit chat."

"Time, Lucius? You don't have the time, so speak up."

Lucius genuinely smiled. "On the contrary, I have all the time in the world." He spread his hands as far as the chains would allow. "You’re the one that’s living on borrowed time."

"We had an agreement!" Janus growled as he turned and strode toward Draco. "Break it and I'm gone, along with your only chance to tie up this loose end." He waved his wand releasing Draco from the spell, and grabbed a fistful of his hair. "You tell me what I need to know or we’re gone. How much do you want to bet that the person he runs crying to is one Harry Potter?" He shook Draco by his hair for emphasis as the young Slytherin cried out in pain. “Don’t even think about lying to me Lucius, or I’ll make sure that you never have this opportunity with Draco again!”

Lucius deeply inhaled, his blue eyes staring daggers into both Janus and Draco. "Very well, you might find Moreaux in his place somewhere up north."

"The name of the location, Lucius!" Janus shouted as his grip tightened on Draco's hair, forcing the Slytherin's neck to stretch and stiffen. 

"The name of the village is Kettlewell. Moreaux had some unfinished, personal business there not too long ago." 

"Spare me the details," Janus snapped. "Anything else?"

"I believe that he sometimes stays in London, and has frequently stayed in Knockturn Alley, for a bit of fun and games." Lucius' eyes narrowed, and a small grin toyed with his lips.

"I already know about Knockturn Alley, and he's not there," Janus spat. "Tell me something useful, before I run out of patience! Where is he, Lucius?" 

Still holding onto Draco's hair, Janus moved close to Lucius. Each step elicited an onslaught of obscenities from Draco. "Are you going to make me get creative? I can curse you in ways that will make the Cruciatus curse seem like a hangnail, and I can make the pain last long after I’m out of here. Are you telling me that Moreaux means that much to you? You’d martyr yourself for him?”

"Don't try your little tricks on me!" Lucius hissed at him. "I've told you what you needed to know about him."

Janus continued to bore a hole through Lucius' cold, blue eyes for a moment longer before finally nodding his head and agreeing with Lucius. "Very well then." Janus waved his wand and cast a sleek, leopard Patronus that encircled him before striding through the air and disappearing through the wall of the chamber. 

Lucius cocked his eyebrow as the Patronus vanished. "Our pact said nothing about a patronus."

Janus tilted his neck toward Lucius. "It’s an insurance policy. I just gave the word to my inside man to make sure you don’t send any more little notes out of here. If you even think about double crossing me--"

"That would never occur to me. Now, what of our agreement?" Lucius asked as he pointed his finger toward Draco.

Janus turned to gaze at Draco, before turning back to Lucius. "He's here isn't he? Just as I said he would be." 

"You bastard!" Lucius spat.

"As I said earlier, I always keep my promises, so here you go." Janus released Draco and then knocked his feet from under him with a swift kick to the ankles. "Now, our agreement is complete."

"And just how am I supposed to do this without a wand, and with these bloody irons shackled around my feet and hands?" 

Janus sighed. "So pitiful aren't you? It must be dreadful for you knowing that you're having to depend upon others to help you."

"Spare me your rubbish, and hand me your wand," Lucius growled.

"Not a chance!" Janus chuckled. "Our deal was for me to give you the opportunity to finish things with Draco." He walked over and nudged Draco with his foot. "What better opportunity to do that than with the veil. You just slip him right in, and it's farewell and adieu!" Janus waved mockingly as he turned his gaze from the veil to Draco, and then to Lucius.

"How?" Lucius asked raising his hands and manacles up in front of him. 

"Like this." Janus waved his wand and the manacles fell from Lucius' hands and ankles. "Wait!" Janus said stepping in front of Lucius. "You want to kill Draco, and Draco wants to kill you." He glanced over his shoulder. "Isn’t that right, Draco?"

Draco nodded and Janus turned back around. "So let's make this an even contest. The loser gets the veil, while the winner gets to live." 

"And what about you?" Draco asked. 

"What about me?" Janus answered. "I could care less who wins. I'd be happy if you both threw each other through the veil." 

"This wasn't our agreement!" Lucius snarled, barreling toward Janus with his fist raised.

Janus yawned theatrically as Lucius struck an invisible shield and staggered backwards, cursing. Draco rose to his feet and backed away from both of them. Lucius dove for Janus' feet, perhaps thinking he could slide under the magical shield, but once again, he was stopped. Janus pocketed his wand, raised his left arm, and glanced at his watch.

"My job here is finished. I'll leave the two of you to one another." Janus' eyes narrowed as his lips parted into a leering smile. He withdrew his right hand from his pocket, holding the small and bright yellow rubber duck as he walked up the stone steps and into the darkness.

\---------------------------------------------

 

Draco and Lucius hurled insults and verbal curses at one another as the distance between the two shrank each time they circled the platform. Lucius had managed to avoid the tiny pieces of rock that Draco had been able to throw across the space toward his father. Now, his ammunition was depleted. 

His father closed the distance between them, lunging forward and then darting back, just out of reach. Lucius threw a punch, which Draco dodged, and then retreated up the stairs. His father's back was to the veil, presenting Draco with an opportunity too tempting to ignore. Draco moved closer, his eyes scanning for an opening, a chance to strike and send Lucius into the realm of phantom voices.

"Who's going to save you now, Draco?” Lucius asked aloud. “Potter? Your mother?" Lucius snarled as a finger briefly touched the fabric of Draco's robes. “You do know that once I kill you, she will be next." Draco's eyes widened with anger and horror. "Oh, yes," Lucius continued, "she will get what is coming to her."

Draco shouted as he charged Lucius, taking his father down with a shoulder tackle. The two rolled around on the cold stone, both wizards exchanging punches like Muggle fighters. The fight continued like this for several minutes before Lucius gained the advantage as he scored a punch to Draco's stomach and a left cross right to his son's nose, breaking it. Draco curled himself into a fetal position as the pain ravaged throughout his body. 

"Get up!" Lucius snarled as he hoisted Draco up, slamming the younger Slytherin's back into the stone archway of the veil. "I believe you said something earlier to me. 'Farewell, father', was it?" Grabbing Draco by his hair, Lucius shoved Draco to the floor a few short feet away from the veil.

"It looks as though you were not the better man today!" Lucius vehemently spat as he brought his foot back to kick Draco into the veil. He stepped forward, bringing his foot closer to its target.

Draco rolled out of the way and struggled to his feet, realizing too late that he now stood directly in front of the veil with Lucius blocking his escape. His eyes darted, scanning the chamber for any sign of help. Behind Lucius, Janus was coming toward them both, his wand raised.

Before Draco could choose between warning Lucius and trying to tackle him, a red beam of light came from the tip of Janus' wand, knocking Lucius away from Draco and the veil.

"Not today, Lucius. Today, I'm the better man." Janus turned his gaze upon Draco and the veil.

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Janus pocketed his wand and seized Draco's wrist, jerking him away from the veil with enough force to make Draco cry out in pain. Before Draco could catch his breath to protest, his stomach lurched with the sickening sensation of portkey travel. When the journey ended, Draco snatched his hand away and turned to run only to find himself bound once more with the conjured ropes. 

“What now?” he demanded, not bothering to turn to face Janus. Pain from his broken nose stabbed into his brain. He wondered if this was what Harry had felt after Draco had broken his nose. 

Janus took Draco by the shoulders and rotated him until they faced each other in the near darkness of where ever they were now. His fingers probed at Draco's face, bringing fresh waves of agony. After drawing his wand, he said, “Episkey,” and Draco heard an unpleasant pop as his nose snapped back into place. “You handled yourself well in there,” Janus remarked. 

“Don't patronize me!” Draco snapped.

“Is there anywhere else you're injured?” Janus asked, his voice oozing a false concern that made Draco nauseous.

“What do you think?” Janus raised a hand, but Draco hopped backwards, narrowly avoiding contact. “Don't you dare touch me! I'd rather heal on my own than have your filthy hands on me.” 

“Look, I'm sorry.” Janus lowered his hand. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the ground for a moment before meeting Draco's eyes. “It had to be real, you had to think I was going to let you die, or Lucius would have known I was double crossing him.”

“And if I had died?” Draco demanded, struggling futilely with the conjured ropes. He looked around, hoping for a familiar setting, but all he saw were moonlit trees. The air had the same loamy smell as it did in the woods behind Janus' house, but he could hear a stream running nearby, which meant they were someplace else. 

Janus stepped forward, took Draco by the shoulders, and squeezed in a way that was perhaps meant to be reassuring. His touch made Draco's skin crawl. “I wouldn't have let you--” 

“If I had?” 

“You weren't going to!” Janus growled. 

“You let him loose on me and told him to throw me into the veil! It was pure luck you were able to get me away in time. Or were you hoping you would fail?” 

Janus shook his head. “You were never in any danger. For reasons I can't begin to fathom, Harry wants you alive.” 

“And Harry always gets what he wants?” Draco sneered. 

“When I can give it to him,” Janus said earnestly. He let his hands fall from Draco's shoulders and leaned back against one of the nearby trees. 

“Did you ask his permission before you took me on this little field trip?” Draco demanded. 

“No. I asked him if he loves you.” 

Draco bit his tongue to keep from asking the obvious question. He didn't care what the answer was. It didn't matter what Harry had said to Janus, and besides, Draco wasn't going to let Janus manipulate his curiosity that way. “If you're really sorry about what you did, you'll untie me, and you'll take me back to the Death Chamber and let me have another go at Father! You've gotten your precious information, you're done with him--” 

“Can't.” Janus reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow duck. “It was a one-time port key. Now, all it does is this.” He squeezed the toy, and it made a high-pitched squeak. 

“You're useless!” Draco snapped. He threw up his hands and let them fall to his sides. He then walked in a circle around the small, moonlit clearing, muttering curses. After his third lap around the tiny open area, he realized that Janus' incarcero spell had worn off or been lifted. He rubbed furiously at his wrists and bent to massage his ankles, suddenly aware of the pain flooding his extremities as the blood rushed back in. He could run now, if he knew where to go. “Where are we?” he asked, trying to sound casual. 

“That's what I asked when my parents brought me here.” Janus raised his hands in an expansive gesture and lit the tip of his wand, illuminating the clearing so that Draco could see a wooden picnic table, a stone firepit, and a narrow gravel road leading off into the trees. “I wasn't thrilled to be here. When we traveled, Dad always liked to spend some time in the country, so we rented camping gear and came out here. Me, I just wanted to see the Tower of London, where they beheaded people.” 

“Why does that not surprise me?” Draco muttered. “I don't care about your stupid family stories!”

Janus knelt by the fire pit and gestured with his lit wand, illuminating a patch of low grass nearby. “Mom and Dad were pitching the tent there, and I was gathering firewood. I heard someone in the trees, then voices at the campsite, and finally screaming. I think it was my dad who screamed the loudest, or maybe I just remember it that way because he lasted the longest.

“I dropped my firewood, all but this one stick about so long.” Janus used his hands to indicate a branch the length of a man's arm. “I thought whoever it was, I could fight him off if I surprised him--” 

“I know how the story ends! You were too late. The murderer took your little stick and probably broke it over your thick head. He left you for dead--” Draco paused, contemplating, and decided to revise his story. “No, he left you alive because you were too pathetic to kill.”

Janus' jaw twitched, and his wand swiveled to point in Draco's direction so that even that small point of light became blinding. “You know how the story goes, but that's not how it ends! It ends with me killing Phillipe Moreaux three days from now. This is where I first met Moreaux, where he asked me a question-- 'What are you going to do about it?'. And this is where he gets his answer. This is where I'm going to burn his corpse to ashes.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Draco groaned. “Am I supposed to forgive you for risking my life just so you could end his? What happened to you doesn't give you the right to make me your pawn.” 

“I need to know if I can trust you.” Janus edged toward Draco, forcing him to back up until he slammed into a tree. He brought the wand close to Draco's face, shining the light in his eyes and making him flinch. 

“Yes, you can trust me!” Draco shouted, hoping the volume of his voice hurt Janus' ears. “Even if I wanted to thwart your little revenge scheme, I wouldn't know how to!” 

Janus sighed and lowered the wand. “I sure wish I believed that.” 

“I want Moreaux dead, too! He tried to kill me and Potter. He worked for my father, and he hurt my mother. I hope you do kill him!” Draco met Janus’ eyes, mentally daring the man to read his emotions. He had meant every word he had said. When Janus continued to frown, Draco continued, “It doesn't matter whether you trust me. You have my wand, and you have leverage over me--” 

Janus burst out laughing. “You're still worried about that? I kidnapped you, broke into the Death Chamber, and tampered with a high-profile prisoner awaiting trial. You? You were caught having special alone time on my couch. If one of us has leverage...” 

“It was embarrassing!” Draco protested. 

“Embarrassing, sure. Criminal? No. I hate this part, but I have some clean-up work to do.” Janus' smile faded. He snatched Draco's upper arm in his left hand, gripping like a Devil's Snare. 

Draco slapped his free hand over Janus' and clawed frantically while shaking his arm and trying to kick Janus. A few of his kicks hit something solid, but none elicited more than a soft grunt. Janus raised his wand and let the light die out before whispering, “Obliviate.” 

\-----------------------------------

Draco blinked at the cobblestone walkway outside Andromeda's house. He wondered why he felt ill and what he was doing on his hands and knees. A hand dangled in front of his face, sticking out of the sleeve of a baggy coat. He raised his chin and followed the sleeve with his eyes, finding that it connected to a pair of shoulders upon which sat a head in a ludicrous round hat with a wide, floppy brim. The hand moved up and pushed the hat back away from the face underneath it. Draco frowned, trying to think of how he knew that face. It had a narrow nose and a pointy chin that made it somewhat fox-like, and he was quite certain it belonged to someone he loathed. After a moment's contemplation, he latched upon a name to go with the face. “Janus!” 

“How much do you remember?” Janus prompted. 

“How much of what?” Draco scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust from the front of his robes. His balance was off, and he staggered as if he had just had a bottle of firewhiskey. His brain had a sluggish, just-awake feeling, and his thoughts raced, grasping at the vanishing tails of some fading dream. “You said Potter wanted to see me, I came with you and then... I fell?” He looked up at Janus for confirmation. 

“Good. It worked.” Janus breathed a loud sigh of relief and grinned. 

“What worked?” Draco demanded. “I don't understand. Are we going to see Potter or not?” He held out his hand for Janus to take so that they could apparate. 

“We've already been.” Janus held up a hand for silence. “You saw each other, and I could tell right away that I wasn't needed, if you know what I mean. I went for a walk, and when I came back, you told me Harry was asleep. None of this is ringing any bells?” 

“None of that ever happened!” Draco shook his head vehemently. 

“Good, good,” Janus murmured. “Anyway, you asked me about a memory charm, I told you 'no,' you begged, you pleaded--”

 

“The last time I asked you to-- the only time I remember asking you to do a memory charm, you refused!” Draco folded his arms across his chest and looked into Janus' eyes. “You're trying to tell me you changed your mind?”

“That was different!” Janus waved a hand. “The other time, you asked me to a do a memory charm on Harry. This time, all you wanted was a memory charm on yourself. You said something about things getting out of hand, getting lost in the moment, doing something that made you sick remembering it...” 

“I wouldn't have! Not again!” Draco flushed and looked down at the cobblestones. 

“I got the impression this was something new for both of you.” 

“But I wouldn't!” Draco protested. “Not after I told him we were through. It doesn't make sense!” 

“Really?” Janus raised an eyebrow. “When you imagine seeing him again, you don't think about what it would be like to let go and forget all the reasons you couldn't, wouldn't, or shouldn't? You don't imagine what he looks like with his clothes off, ready for you--” 

“It's not that impressive!” Draco snapped. His face heated as all of his most secret thoughts flooded his mind. “Alright, yes! It's possible that I might have...” He felt a sudden need to take a very long shower. “I think I'm glad I don't remember tonight.” 

“I don't understand you, Malfoy.” Janus shook his head. “If I took you back to Harry right now, he'd welcome you with open arms, and you'd rather be here?” He pointed to the house, where Narcissa and Andromeda stood silhouetted against the white lace curtains.

“I'd rather that the next time my name is in the Daily Prophet, it's not because of him!” Draco countered. “I want to have my own bloody life! Besides, Potter and I, all we do is hurt each other.” 

“Everyone is going to hurt you. You have to find the ones worth suffering for.” 

Draco snorted. “I think I hate you less when you're threatening me.” Janus turned and raised his wand, probably in preparation to apparate, but Draco stopped him with a hand on his arm. “About the trial...” 

“I don't think you have to worry about that.” Janus shrugged off Draco's hand. “Just show up. Harry will be there, and he'll do the right thing.”


	34. The Darkest Of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the following two sort of tie in together with each other.  
> About this chapter itself...sorry no hints on this one. You are going to have to read it and see just what happens. LOL! We hope that everyone enjoys it, and look forward to hearing your reviews and thoughts.

Chapter 34: The Darkest of Men

 

Grease dribbled between Harry's fingers as he raised his fist toward the roof of the Burrow, trying to catch the white eagle's attention. As Orion spread his wings and made an awkward, flapping descent, Harry opened his fist to reveal the piece of gristle he had saved from dinner. Strong talons gripped his forearm, and Orion struck with precision, taking the meat without harming Harry's hand. Satisfied, the eagle allowed Harry to stroke his wings and chest. 

 

“You should send that bird back to Malfoy.” 

 

Harry craned his neck to see Ginny standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. 

 

“I like having him here.” Harry scratched Orion's neck, causing the eagle to close his dark, beady eyes and tilt his head to one side. 

 

“I don't. He eats the gnomes and leaves bits of them everywhere! I should be able to walk in my own garden without stepping on part of an arm or a leg.” 

 

“Maybe if you fed him something better, he wouldn't have to eat gnomes,” Harry countered. In truth, he had planned to send Orion to Andromeda's house, perhaps with a letter for Draco. He had drafted several versions of the letter in his head, discarding each before committing it to paper. However, he wasn't about to discuss Draco with Ginny, and given how she was behaving, he somewhat enjoyed the thought of her stepping in Orion's leavings. 

 

“I shouldn't have to feed him--” Ginny's response was cut off as Hermione came out the front door, carrying a folded paper in her hand. 

 

With a sigh, Harry eased Orion off his arm and then wiped his greasy left hand on a handkerchief from his pocket. “If it's more of Skeeter's nonsense--” he began. 

 

“It's not the Prophet, it's the Quibbler,” Hermione said, unfolding the paper and holding it out to him. “There's an article about the murder in Nocturne Alley, and I should warn you that it has pictures.” When she said the word “pictures,” her nose wrinkled, and her mouth twitched as if she wanted to spit something out. 

 

Harry took the paper and gazed at the moving image on the front page. A smiling young woman with a dark complexion and a head of intricate black curls winked at the camera and draped her arm around the shoulders of a golden-eyed lioness. The big cat twitched her ears and head butted the girl's jaw, reminding Harry of Janus' cat, Socrates. The headline above the picture read “Creature Attack in Nocturne Alley.” 

 

“Let me guess,” Harry murmured. “The Quibbler staff thinks it's the work of a crumple-horned snorkack.” 

 

“No, it's a smooth-horned snorkack this time. They say you can tell by the shape of the teeth marks.” Hermione reached across Harry to turn the page of the paper, revealing a full-page photo showing Jett splayed out on the cobblestones, her empty brown eyes staring into the distance. A gaudy silver earring hung from her left earlobe, sequins sparkling against the dark background of her hair. One arm lay at her side, and the other was flung upwards so that the hand rested near her head, its fingers curled into a claw. The fingertips looked wet and dark, as if she had drawn blood from her attacker or perhaps clutched at her own wounds in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. The pale pink robe she wore was torn down to her waist, offering a view of the gash that ran from her rib cage to her left hip bone. Harry could see something wet and shiny through the gaping wound, and as he watched, dark blood seeped through the fabric of the robe and trickled onto the cobblestones. A few seconds later, the moving picture reset itself, and the slow creep of fluids began again. 

 

“Teeth marks?” he repeated, swallowing back bile. 

 

Hermione pointed to the dead girl's neck, where a second wound dripped. 

 

Harry frowned, puzzled. “Janus was sure it was Moreaux! Phillipe was there, I know it, I talked to the other girl, Tawny...”

 

“Maybe a sectumsempra spell like the one you used on Malfoy?” Ginny mused, standing close to Harry and leaning forward to look at the picture. 

 

“No. That leaves a clean cut like a sword wound. This girl was torn apart!” Harry closed the paper to hand it back to Hermione, but Ginny took it from his hand.

 

“He could be an animagus,” Hermione offered. “That would explain how he's hiding.” 

 

Harry shook his head. “Janus never said anything about Phillipe being an animagus. And if he could change into a creature that powerful, why didn't he do it before, with me and Draco or with Ginny and Ron?” 

 

“It's the difference between a fight and a slaughter,” Ginny said grimly. “That girl was on her own, helpless.” She closed her eyes and touched the picture of Jett and Tawny on the front page. “If I had taken the time to finish him properly...” 

 

“It wasn't your fault!” Harry said vehemently. “It was Moreaux's, or Lucius Malfoy's, if that's who let him out of Nurmengard.” 

 

“The question is why isn't anyone putting him back?” Hermione murmured. “I haven't seen so much as a wanted poster. The Prophet never mentions him. The Quibbler blames his work on a mythical creature. Someone doesn't want him to be found.” 

 

“Now you sound as paranoid as Janus.” Harry smiled at Hermione, but the joke felt flat. 

 

“I'll bet Draco knows something about it,” Ginny said. “Think about it! He pretends to be your friend just long enough to lure you to Malfoy Manor where Lucius and Phillipe try to kill us all--” 

 

“You know nothing about him!” Harry snapped. 

 

“None of us do, not really.” Ginny rolled the paper, stuffed it into her front pocket and folded her arms across her chest. “I know one thing. Getting the lot of the Malfoys in Azkaban would make the world safer. At least we'd know for sure if they're the ones pulling Moreaux's strings.” 

 

Harry took a step toward Ginny and met her eyes. “Draco isn't going to Azkaban!” 

 

“That depends on whether the Wizengamot looks at the Dark Mark on his arm or listens to his partner in crime,” Ginny replied. 

 

“Ginny, that's enough.” Hermione took her by the arm and pulled her toward the house. 

 

Saved from replying to Ginny, Harry started toward the pond, where Orion was circling, on the hunt for gnomes, rats, or whatever else he could catch. Harry's stomach churned, making him wish he had skipped dinner. After all he had seen, the picture from the Quibbler shouldn't bother him, but he couldn't force it out of his mind. The more he replayed the moving picture in his head, the angrier and more restless he became. 

 

I didn't fight a war just so people like him could run loose!

 

He kicked a stone into the pond and watched the ripples until they disappeared, leaving the surface as smooth as before. 

 

Is that all the difference I've made? 

 

The prospect of doing nothing while waiting for the trial seemed suddenly unbearable. He felt an irresistible urge to be doing something, anything, to get closer to finding Phillipe Moreaux. He could only think of one person who might know more about where to start. 

 

With a glance back at the door of the Burrow, he drew his wand, but found himself hesitating. Seeing Janus again would be strange after last night, and he wondered how long the visit would last before Janus found some way to get rid of him. No, he decided, this time he would get real answers, and he wouldn't let himself be pushed away or distracted with stories.

 

He raised his wand, and a moment later he was standing in the forest, reeling as much from the prospect of confronting Janus as from the apparition. Thinking of how he had embarrassed himself yesterday still made his cheeks burn.

 

... this is where I want to be. With you. 

 

Why had he said that? As he started toward the house, his mind tormented him with reminders of his own behavior. There would be none of that today, he promised himself, unless Janus started it, in which case... 

 

Something caught his ankle as he approached the house, and he stumbled, catching himself on a tree trunk. At first he thought that Janus might have set the wards to keep him out, but when he felt another thump on his calf, he looked down to see Socrates. The Siamese mewled loudly, ran to the front door, and began scratching. Harry joined him on the stoop and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he put his ear to the door and heard only the wind in the trees. 

 

He wrapped on the door with a fist. “Janus?” he called. “Janus!” 

 

The cat weaved back and forth between Harry's legs, making plaintive sounds. Harry tried the doorknob, cast Alohomora, and tried it again, to no avail. “He said whatever he was doing wouldn't take long!” he muttered, watching Socrates scratch at the door with renewed effort. Frustrated, he slapped the door one last time. “Janus! Where the hell are you?” 

 

\---------------------------

 

The evening sun sat low on the horizon as streaks of pink and yellow traced across the sky. A small pop in the air signaled the arrival of a visitor to the scene. The beautiful display by nature brought Janus to a stop, and he turned on the spot, making sure of his location and also taking in this majestic artwork from the heavens. It was indeed a breath-taking sight, a view so glorious that it could cause the darkest of men to pause, momentarily.

 

Janus wondered if Moreaux was watching the same sunset, not realizing it might be his last. The anticipation made Janus' mouth go dry, and his hands shook slightly, as if he were about to meet a lover. He had played out Moreaux's final moments in his mind in so many different ways that they all blurred together in a stew of dark fantasy. At times, he had imagined himself showing mercy and putting Moreaux down quickly with the killing curse, destroying him like a rabid animal. In his more grandiose imaginings, Janus burst his enemy in an explosion of flame and spark, and when his mood was blackest, he enjoyed devising scenarios in which Moreaux died in agony over a period of days or weeks.

 

When the confrontation finally came, Janus didn't know what means he would use, only what end he desired. The uncertainty only heightened the anticipation, sending near-electric thrills through his body. In his mind, Moreaux suffered every possible death at Janus' hands, and the need to choose just one was almost painful.

 

Janus turned, with his back now to the western sun, and brought his gaze down upon the small village of Kettlewell, as it nestled in the late day shadows. Far above him, a soft cry came as Artemis landed upon his shoulder. With two fingers he petted the owl, and the bird returned the admiration by scrubbing her beak against his cheek. "I need for you to be my eyes, old girl. Be watchful for me." The owl took flight as Janus began his walk down the hillside and into the village. 

 

Entering the village by the cobblestone road, he walked by several houses, some of them with boarded up windows. While he made his way past the houses, front doors and windows slammed closed, and residents drew their curtains. "Wonderful hospitality," Janus mused as he continued his walk.

 

Eventually, he came to the business area of the main street. His feet instantly stopped as he spotted The Olde Kette Pub. The windows and door to the establishment had police barrier tape across them, warning everyone not to disturb the scene. Janus' eyes flickered from the yellow tape across the door to the red and white tape that formed an x-shape across the large front window. The colors of the tape reminded him of two large sticks of peppermint candy at Christmas, and the morbid comparison made him smile until he noticed an additional detail. Centered just above the intersection of the barrier tape a splash of dried blood had stained the window. Janus sighed and mumbled to himself as he began his walk once again, looking for some type of inn to stay in and a location where he might find information. 

 

A short time later, he had finished checking into a small bed and breakfast, and he unpacked his small bag into the closet. Janus then secured his wand in the handmade holder that slipped around his right wrist. He then made his way back downstairs, and after asking the innkeeper a few questions he thanked her as he walked out into the cool, late summer's air. His destination was the only pub that was still open in the village.

 

Janus stood under the wooden sign as it swayed gently in the evening breeze. He admired its beauty and its tradition of rich English heritage. "Richard the Lionheart. Coeur de Lion," Janus said to himself as he smiled at the sign. "The Red Lion." 

 

When he studied the stylized lion on the sign, the image of Tawny in her red robe flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. He would visit her soon, of course, and regale her with all the grisly details of Moreaux's final moments. She would shake with relief and weep with gratitude, proving that Harry and Arthur were wrong about revenge being empty. Strangely, thoughts like these came as an unwanted distraction, like a ringing telephone during dinner. What he craved was focus, and as his fingers wrapped around the door handle, he imagined squeezing Moreaux's throat.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

The bell tinkled above Janus' head as he entered the small, cozy building where a pair of customers sat talking to the barman. Three sets of eyes quickly found him as the conversation abruptly ended. Janus smiled at all three and bade them good afternoon. He watched as the barman raised an eyebrow in curiosity from the end of the bar, where the couple sat with dinner plates half-empty. 

 

"Fine evening to you, sir!" the barman greeted as he made his way over. Janus returned the greeting with a nod and a sincere "hello" to the man. A broad smile appeared as Janus greeted him. "Ah, American!" He grinned, wiping his hands on the white apron that draped around his large waist. "I was just telling Basil and Evelyn how I always do seem to have the most interesting of guests come into my pub." 

 

Janus chuckled in return. "Yes, I suppose that I am a bit of a fish out of water here."

 

"My name's Samuel Watson," the large man behind the counter said as he extended a small, grubby hand toward Janus. 

 

"Ward, James Ward," Janus replied as he returned the man's smile. 

 

"Nice to meet a new face, Mr. Ward."

 

Janus held his hand up as he flinched at the use of his surname. "Please, Mr. Ward was my father. It's James." The words came out sounding harsher than he had intended, and he forced a smile to soften them.

 

"Oh, sorry," Samuel said as he chuckled. "Guess you're not quite old enough for 'mister' yet, eh?"

 

"Yeah, you're right about that, Mr. Watson."

 

"Oh, posh! Call me Sam," he said, waving a hand at Janus. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Basil Sinclair and his wife, Evelyn." Janus rose from his seat at the bar and curtly nodded at the couple. "Basil there is a retired writer. He loved to write murder mysteries."

 

"Police capers, Sam," the man with the wire-rimmed glasses chimed in. "It's merely the product of an over-productive imagination."

 

Janus could feel the blood race through his veins as he tried to keep a calm demeanor. "Really? Quite fascinating! I'm a bit into--" 

 

"What can I get for you, James?" Sam interrupted.

 

"Oh, sorry. I guess I do need to order something, don't I?" Janus flashed a half smile at Sam. "I've eaten enough fish and chips, but I've always heard about haggis. Is that on the menu?"

 

A slow smile spread across Sam's face. "A brave soul," the man said as he clapped his hands together. "My mum taught me everything there is to know about making haggis."

 

"Please, amuse me then," Janus said as he leaned forward on the counter. His glance shifted toward Basil. "Excuse me, Basil, but you said that you wrote crime stories?" He watched as the man nodded while chewing his food. "I suppose then that you must have some theory or idea about what happened here?"

 

The fork dropped and clanked off the plate, and the retired writer calmly wiped his lips free of any crumbs of food. Janus watched as he took a large drink of tea before he spoke. "Well, I'm not an official police officer, but yes, I do have my ideas, not that they matter to anyone. What business is it of yours, Mr. Ward?"

 

Janus rubbed the knuckles of his left hand before bringing his gaze back to the man. "I was curious, seeing as we both have a similar interest. You write crime stories, and I investigate actual crimes. I was hoping that perhaps your insight would be helpful in trying to understand what happened here." 

 

"You! A bloody Yank? Investigating a murder in Britain?" Basil snorted, his eyes narrowing toward Janus. "I'd say that you were out of your jurisdiction. Shouldn't you be patrolling the streets of New York or wherever it is that you come from?"

 

"Actually, I've never been to the Big Apple." Janus chuckled. "I work in a special division within the Secret Services. We work hand in hand with our brothers over here. You know Scotland Yard, MI5, and other law enforcement agencies." Janus got up and walked over toward the couple, making sure that the older man had a full view of him. He reached inside his duster jacket and brandished a black wallet that he quickly flipped open to reveal a gold star. 

 

"WTF? Never heard of it." Basil replied, scrunching his nose as Janus placed the wallet back inside his duster. "Sounds like rubbish to me."

 

"W…T…F," Janus repeated, drawing out the syllables of each letter as his mind raced for an official-sounding acronym. "Watchmen's trade federation. It's the name of the special division that I am a part of," Janus said sitting back down at the bar, closer to the couple. 

 

"Alright, I'll bite," the man said as he pushed his plate away, clearly not interested in his dinner anymore.

 

"Basil, no!" His wife pleaded while tugging on his arm.

 

"Evie, please. This character has my curiosity now. A mysterious man in a long coat, claiming to be from a secret government organization walks into a pub asking questions about a murder, and you expect me to send him on his way?"

 

"Shame on you, Basil Sinclair!" Evelyn sassed as she rose and walked around the bar. "I don't know who you are," she began as she made her way past Janus. "Our little village has had enough trouble as of late; please don't make things worse for us here. Joe was a decent man! If you're another tabloid writer--"

 

“I'm not, cross my heart.” Janus winked and ran his index finger across his chest, tracing an “x”. 

 

Looking unconvinced, she snorted and turned to look at her husband. "Alright, Basil, stay and have your fun with the young man. I’m retiring for the evening." With that, she opened the door and walked out of the establishment.

 

Janus waited while Basil looked past his shoulder. Seconds later, after the pub door slammed shut, Basil spoke. "So, now that my wife isn't here to butt in, let's get down to brass tacks. Who exactly are you, assuming for the moment that I believe your WTF story?"

 

Samuel waddled over to both men, placing the plate on the table in front of Janus. "Might as well tell him. Once old Basil sinks his teeth into ya, he's like a bulldog."

 

Janus sliced a small piece of the haggis with his fork and tentatively placed it onto his tongue, closed his mouth, and chewed carefully, savoring the distinct flavor before swallowing. "And here I thought haggis would be nasty, Samuel. This is actually quite good."

 

"Thank you. It is an acquired taste. Not everyone's keen on it," Samuel called from behind the counter.

 

Janus turned his attention back to Mr. Sinclair, who waited impatiently, his hands crossed and index finger tapping constantly on the counter. "Well?"

 

"Very well then," he lamented as he sighed and placed his fork down upon the plate. "I am a problem solver, Mr. Sinclair. My problem right now is finding a man, a certain man who might have been in this village on the night Joe McGuire died. To do that, I need to understand what happened, or 'whodunit', if you prefer. So, what do you say?"

 

Janus sampled another forkful of food as he waited on the man's answer. Basil made to clear his throat before he began, as if readying himself for a long speech. "I know the police chief here in the village, and also the head of the police force in this district. They said that what happened to Milo and old Joe is the damndest thing that they've ever seen. It was as if the killer just disappeared, like magic. He didn't leave behind a single scrap of evidence."

 

"Magic, huh? Like pulling a rabbit out of the hat kind, or the black candles and pentagrams stuff for the kids whose daddies didn't --"

 

"No, no! Neither!" Basil quickly said interrupting Janus. "Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?"

 

The edge of Janus' lips twitched as he began to smile, but he forced his face to neutrality as he asked. "Do you?"

 

Basil licked his lips, looked around the room, and leaned forward as if imparting a secret. "What I believe is that this village is haunted."

 

"Haunted?" Samuel spoke up as he turned toward the two. "We all know that's a bloody load of bollocks!" He spat behind the bar. "That's all part of that overactive imagination of yours! As if a ghost could kill someone. I ought to run you out of here for such nonsense. It's disrespectful, is what it is!"

 

Basil groaned and rolled his eyes. Clearly, the two men had already had this same argument so many times that both knew the script by heart. "But, Sam! The flash of light, the marks on the bodies, the lack of evidence!"

 

"What light?" Samuel asked. "Ruddy hell, Basil, that imagination of yours has run off now. It was stormin' that night. It was more than likely only the lightning flashing across the sky." Samuel flung the damp towel from his shoulder, down onto the counter causing droplets of water to splash onto Basil's glasses. "If you ask me, I think old Milo wasn't all that he said he was. Had a few skeletons in his closet, he did, until one of them killed him. I reckon someone slipped into the Kette and caught Milo off guard while Joe wasn't around."

 

"And how do you explain Joe's death then?" Basil asked as he wiped his glasses clean and pocketed the handkerchief.

 

"Simple. He had a heart attack. Couldn't take the strain of seeing a man with his throat cut open, sittin' in his pub. We all knew that old Joe drank too much anyway, so his heart was bound to tick its last tock."

 

"Codswallop!" Basil muttered. "Both men were murdered!"

 

"Gentlemen, please, enough banter," Janus said, rising from the bar. "I'm not interested in ghost stories, not unless the ghosts can point me in the direction of this man." He unfolded a piece of paper with Phillipe Moreaux's picture and laid it on the counter for both men to see. Wearing a loose, black-and-white striped jumpsuit, Moreaux stood in front of a stark concrete wall. Something out of the frame caught his attention, and he peeled back his lips in what might have been a smile or a snarl, exposing crooked yellow teeth. His eyes swung toward the camera so that he seemed to be looking out of the page, and then the image reset itself, repeating in an endless loop. 

 

"Why does the picture move?" Basil asked as he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

 

"It's the latest technology in mugshots, but that's really not important right now. This man, Phillipe Moreaux, is very dangerous, and he's a threat to anyone who comes across his path." Janus banged his fist upon the counter, causing his glass to shake.

 

"Heaven's mercy!" Basil muttered as he touched his forehead with his fingers and then the edges of his chest. 

 

"We've been tracking him for some time now, but he is very skilled and has thus far eluded us." Janus stopped as he looked at the remains of his haggis and pushed the plate away. "Word reached us about what happened here, but we also had good confirmation that he was spotted in London and also in a manor just outside of London. Needless to say, he escaped." Janus sighed and took a long drink from his glass. "That's when I came here. My goal is to understand why he killed here. Perhaps I am missing something about the man." He took another drink from the glass, emptying it. "A moment ago, you mentioned a name, Milo?" 

 

Samuel chimed in before Basil could speak. "Oh yeah, Milo Mycroft! Poor sod. He moved to the village a few months before the murder happened. Struck up a friendship with old Joe. Went by there almost every day to have a drink, he did."

 

"Family?" Janus quickly asked, as he slipped out a pencil and paper from his duster pocket. 

 

"Ugh…I think he was married, but I never saw his wife. Guess she was the homebody type."

 

"Perhaps so. What happened to his wife when he was murdered?" Janus asked as he scribbled onto the paper.

 

"When they went to tell her about poor Milo's death, she wasn't at home," Basil piped in. "It doesn't look like anyone's living in the house, now."

 

"Odd, don't you think?" Janus looked up at the two, a distant fire burning in his eyes. "You said he moved here. Where is his house?"

 

"Yeah, at the end of the lane," Samuel said, pointing at the window. "Last house on the left as you go out of the village toward the hill."

 

"I see. Tell me, have you seen him?" Janus said, tapping the photograph. 

 

Samuel nodded slowly. "Once, now that I think about it. It was the day after old Joe and Milo were killed."

 

"And you?" Janus asked, rounding on Basil. 

 

"I-I…think I may have seen him once or twice," he stammered. "Late in the evening, after nightfall. I was taking the rubbish out, just a few nights ago, and I remember seeing him walking along the lane. I thought it was a bit odd how he looked."

 

"Odd?" Janus questioned. "Come on, out with it all!"

 

"Y…yes. He had on a long robe, almost like a Halloween costume. I...I had thought about saying something to the man, about how ridiculous he looked, but I decided not to."

 

"Where was he walking to? Which direction?"

 

"It was toward the end of the lane." Basil waved a hand, which had started to tremble.

 

Janus finished writing and folded the paper and photograph up. "It's probably a good thing that you didn't say anything to him. Otherwise, you'd be dead right now."

 

The little man gasped as his hand slid over his throat.

 

"Thank you both, gentlemen, for your time and information. If you see Moreaux, don't question him or try to apprehend him. Come and get me. I'm staying at the Nags Inn at the opposite end of the lane."

 

Janus paid his bill and left the two men in silence. His mind constantly turned over the information regarding Milo Mycroft, desperately trying to connect the two men together. The small voice in his head told him where the answers to his questions would be found. His eyes narrowed toward the lone house that sat by itself from the lane. "That's the one." 

 

A soft hoot came from the tree branch above, and Janus looked up. "We're in the right spot, Arty. Find him for me." The owl hooted and flew away toward the last house on the left. 

 

Janus rubbed his eyes as his body began to tire from the day's progress. "Be careful, old girl," he whispered as he walked back up the lane, toward the Nags Inn where he would rest and wait. His muscles ached from being tense with anticipation. Unable to resist, he took the photo from his pocket and held it in front of him while he walked. His eyes glazed over as they fixed on Phillipe's face, imagining it bursting into flames or turning blue with asphyxiation. A cobblestone caught the toe of his shoe, and he reeled, windmilling his arms to catch his balance. Sheepishly, he put the photo in his pocket and glanced around to make sure no one had seen his near-fall. Finding himself alone on the darkening street, he grinned with relief. 

 

“Careful,” he murmured to himself. “I'm too close to slip up now.”

 

 

\--------------------------------

 

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the darkness above the large circular room and watched the Unspeakables below as they tried to give food and water to Lucius Malfoy. When one of the Unspeakables offered a meal tray, Lucius batted it away from his face, spilling the contents of the tray onto the man's robe. Lucius swore loudly, his voice echoing throughout the chamber. The Unspeakable quickly stepped away and began to ascend the long flight of stone steps that led to the exit of the room.

 

"He's in a right, ill mood, Minister. Are you sure you want to be alone with him?" Auror Westbrook asked as he stood beside Kingsley. 

 

"Would you not be the same, if it were you down there?" Shacklebolt angled his chin as he glanced sideways at the auror. "Lucius won't try anything with me. He knows that it would be suicide if he did." Shacklebolt stepped to the side as the Unspeakable made his way past, giving Kingsley a curt bow before slipping past the two and out of the room. 

 

"Sir, beggin' your pardon, but I strongly urge you--" 

 

"Urge what?" Kingsley snapped, rounding in front of the aged auror. A few tense seconds followed before Kingsley spoke up. "Your name's Westbrook, isn't it?" Not allowing the auror to answer his question, he continued. "I recall posting you to this duty."

 

"That you did, sir."

 

"You have a wife, and a son, if I remember correctly. He's attending Hogwarts, or will be once the rebuilding is completed?"

 

"Yes, Minister."

 

Kingsley smiled as his large hand grasped the auror's shoulder. "Does he want to grow up and be like his father? To become an Auror?"

 

"Aye, sir. He's a very bright lad. Already studyin' up on it."

 

"I see," Kingsley muttered, the smile quickly fading from his face. "Let me urge you. Don't presume to tell me anything. I'm the Minister of Magic!"

 

"But, sir, leaving you alone with a dangerous prisoner is a breach of protocol. I couldn't--"

 

"Couldn't what? Do you actually know Lucius Malfoy? Or do you just know his name? I know Lucius better than any Auror alive." Kingsley's eyes narrowed as the wizard before him began to blabber his apologies. "It would be such a shame for you to have to tell your son that his father was fired because he couldn't follow simple instructions from the Minister. Now, leave me!"

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

"Others will follow your footsteps more readily than they will your advice, Minister," Lucius extended a chained hand forward as Kingsley descended the final step and stood facing Lucius Malfoy. A small smile toyed at the edges of Lucius' lips. "I couldn't help but overhear your minor spat from above." 

 

A soft grunt escaped Kingsley's throat as he stepped forward. "All part of the job, I'm afraid."

 

"Ah, indeed! And, how is the job? Capturing plenty of evil wizards, are you? Or, is the job providing you with plenty of sleepless nights as you worry about your greater good? It is such a difficult position to be in, is it not, Minister? Especially when one has no help." Lucius cupped his hands together, and opened them, palms facing outward toward Kingsley. 

 

Unmoved by Lucius' taunt, Kingsley sat down on the stone step beside him. "You should know all about my job, right, Lucius? You were so well associated with Fudge."

 

Lucius tilted his chin upward. "I only helped to guide Fudge on certain matters. I won't allow myself to be held responsible for the man's shortcomings and poor decisions."

 

"The man was an ass, Lucius. You don't have to pretend around me."

 

“Well…” Lucius began, shifting his eyes to glance at Kingsley, yet still holding his chin upward. "Perhaps we finally agree on something."

 

"I suppose there is a first time for everything," Kingsley said. He shook his head as one final thought of the former minister flashed through his mind. "Which brings me to my reason for being here, tonight."

 

Lucius slowly lowered his chin, and gazed over. "Yes, why are you here? Or have you missed my sparkling personality?"

 

A soft, tinkling music echoed in the room as Lucius scanned around for the source. Reaching into the breast pocket of his vest, Kingsley pulled out a gold, circular watch that was attached to his pocket by a gold chain. The tinkling music stopped playing as he opened the outer lid. 

 

"A Muggle trinket?" 

 

"Family heirloom, Lucius," Kingsley replied as he pocketed the watch. "Midnight. A clear conscious never fears the final midnight."

 

"Meaning?" Lucius asked as he waved his hand in the air.

 

"You don't know what day it is, do you?" 

 

Lucius' eyes slightly narrowed. "No, I don't, as my calendar is in my study."

 

"Today is your special day, Lucius. The trial."

 

"Really?" Lucius snorted. "And I haven't even had my last dinner?"

 

Kingsley glanced at the scattered remains of the meal. "Yes, you have. Though you chose to have it tossed onto the ground." 

 

Lucius' eyes quickly looked down at the remaining bits of food that were on the floor, before he brought his gaze back to Kingsley. "And I suppose you are the priest who will hear my last confessions?"

 

The smile toyed at the edge of Kingsley's lips. "If you wish me to be, Lucius. You may be more correct than you know."

 

"Oh? Explain yourself then,” Lucius said in his best demanding tone.

 

"Think about your situation, and it will come to you."

 

"Don't speak to me in riddles, Shacklebolt! You dare to keep me here locked up after I was attacked and rendered unconscious in my own home. You feed me scraps and keep me chained as if I'm some wild animal! You tell me, Minister, what have I done to deserve such treatment?"

 

"All for your protection, Lucius. Also to make sure that you would still be here for your trial. We wouldn't want you to disappear on us, now would we?"

 

"And what are you doing about Draco, Kingsley? Hmm? How have your efforts been in finding my son? It will be his trial as well," Lucius huffed.

 

Kingsley sighed deeply before answering. "Yes, I know that all too well." He took another deep breath before he continued. "Should Draco not be present today, then he will force me to hunt him down at all cost. Should it come to light that someone is helping to hide Draco, they too will be held responsible for their actions."

 

"And if he shows?" Lucius queried.

 

"Then Draco will be held to stand trial for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

 

"I see," Lucius said, nodding his head. He stood up, slowly walked to the dais, and gazed into the soft light of the veil. Carefully, he turned to face Kingsley, his shackles clinking together as he pivoted, while the soft glow of the veil eerily glowed on Lucius' pale skin and silver hair. "You still have not told me exactly why you are here." 

 

Kingsley stood to his full height and inhaled slowly, as he stared into Lucius' eyes. "Don't try to play games with me, Lucius," Shacklebolt said as he walked toward the dais. "I'm not some young, inexperienced auror that you can easily intimidate. I know your methods." He began to slowly pace around the veil, as Lucius stood rooted in his own stance on the other side of the round, stone platform. "I've often asked myself how many times you've thought about stepping in there," Kingsley said as he jerked his chin up at the veil.

 

"Why? Would it make your job any easier if I were dead? What is it you fear? That I'll tell the Wizengamot how you allied yourself with me? Or that I'll recite the list of all the witches and wizards who died in tragic 'accidents' after I named them as Death Eaters?" Lucius scoffed as he let his hands fall in front of his body. Smiling, he continued, "Perhaps you fear that some of those unfortunates who died by your orders were not Death Eaters at all, but merely people whose continued existence inconvenienced me." 

 

Ignoring Lucius’ barb, Kingsley folded his hands behind his back, and continued to walk around the veil, slowly making his way to where Lucius stood. "I was curious to see how much time it would take before you might consider meeting those unfortunates on the other side." Kingsley stopped, leaned forward, and whispered into Lucius' ear. "Joining those unfortunate souls and your dead master." A small smile spread across his dark features. "Have you considered it? Do the dead call out for you to join them?" The smile quickly faded, only to be replaced with a tight-lipped scowl, as Kingsley stepped in front of Lucius.

 

"To the contrary, Kingsley, there hasn't been a single moment that I have contemplated that. Death comes for us all at the end. It is our one final destination." Kingsley stood, shaking his head side to side. "I am, as I am, Minister," Lucius coldly whispered. 

 

"As am I, Lucius," Kingsley growled. "The true nature of my reason for being here..."

 

Lucius’ eyebrow slowly arched upward, disappearing behind a lock of silver hair. "Yes?"

 

"You and I have a lot of history together. A history that goes back to our days at Hogwarts."

 

Lucius scoffed as he brushed past Kingsley, his manacles jingling with each step. "Spare me your sentimental lessons from the past, Kingsley. We chose our paths and allegiances a long time ago."

 

"It doesn't have to continue to be that way, Lucius," Shacklebolt urged, a note or pleading mixed into his voice. "You have no friends left. There are no more allies for you to turn to. Your master is dead, and this time there will be no escape from Azkaban for you. The Wizengamot will sentence you, and the dementors will perform their kiss."

 

Lucius thrust out his chest, as he sat down on the large stone. "If it is my fate, then so be it." 

 

"Arrogant fool," Kingsley whispered as he paced around the veil for a second time. "I have the power to save your life!" He held his hands in front of him, palms open. His eyes drifted to his left hand, "On one hand, Lucius, I can be forgiving, merciful, benevolent." The gaze in Kingsley's eyes hardened as he looked at his right hand. "On the other," he continued as his hand balled into a strong fist. "I can crush and destroy your life with one swift stroke." Kingsley stood holding his right fist in the air, like a statue, before finally releasing it, and continuing his slow pace. "Do you really want to die for a dead wizard who would've killed you at the first sign of weakness?" 

 

Lucius sat and continued to stare into Kingsley's eyes as the man continued speaking. "Your information has been extremely useful in assisting the Ministry with capturing those wizards and witches who were loyal to Voldemort." 

 

Kingsley swiftly crossed the space between them, sitting himself down on the stone beside Lucius. "I can persuade the Wizengamot to see things my way, if you allow me to."

 

"Leverage over the Wizengamot?" Lucius questioned. 

 

"Call it a method of friendly persuasion," Kingsley countered. "But, in order for it to work, you must swear a binding oath to keep the nature of our agreement secret. At the trial, you will confess to your doings under the command of the Dark Lord without mentioning our arrangement. You will then throw yourself on the mercy of the Wizengamot." 

 

The muscles on Lucius' jaw tightened. "I, Lucius Malfoy, beg for mercy?" Lucius asked as he stroked the stubble on his chin. "And how do I know that you will keep to your word, if I agree?"

 

Kingsley stood up, and stepped in front of Lucius. "If I were not serious about my offer, I wouldn't be here right now, and would let your soul be taken away by the dementors." 

 

"And, of course, it's clear what you gain if I agree." Lucius snorted.

 

Kingsley stepped back, shaking his head. "Is that the only way that you know to judge everything? By gain or loss? I am trying to rebuild a new world that you and your fellow Death Eaters almost destroyed. If I have to eliminate every single Death Eater to make our world a better place, then so be it. However, I would rather try to make peace than to continue with more needless bloodshed. You, Lucius, can be that olive branch for the wizarding world."

 

"As I've heard from my sources, you seem to enjoy the continuing of that 'needless bloodshed' that you spoke of," Lucius said dismissively. "Don't try to flatter yourself, Minister. I know that you're as dirty as I am." He finished as he laced his fingers into his silver hair behind his head and smiled broadly at Kingsley. 

 

"Very well, then!" Kingsley snapped as he adjusted the robe around his neck. "Enjoy these final few hours that you have left. When the dementors are sucking the soul out of your body, remember that I tried to give you a chance to live. Think about that as the final pieces of your soul are taken for eternity, leaving you as a frail skeleton of a man." Turning on the spot, Kingsley quickly began to ascend the steps. 

 

"Give my best to your legionnaire," Lucius called from below, as Kingsley was halfway up the stone steps. The comment caused the wizard to stop for a moment as he contemplated turning around and saying something back. "He is so costly, isn't he, Minister?" Lucius’ voice continued as Kingsley stood there, his back to the voice below.

 

"I'll deliver the message personally," Kingsley whispered.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

I know that you are as dirty as I am.

 

Lucius' words hovered in Kingsley's mind like a dark storm cloud.

 

Dirty? Kingsley growled to himself as he reached and grabbed the doorknob with his large fingers. He's about to see just how dirty I can be. Shacklebolt wrenched open the door, and walked out of the chamber. Auror Westbrook stood to attention and saluted Kingsley.

 

"Is everything alright, sir? I tried to warn you, Minister, about that old sod down there. He's a bloody snake if there ever was one."

 

Kingsley's eyes adjusted to the brighter glow of the light coming from the torches that lined the stone corridor. "Yes, everything will be alright, Westbrook," he replied. "It will be even better than alright once that bastard is gone for good!" Kingsley angrily muttered as he pointed at the Death Chamber door. "Send a message to the best aurors in each division. If they are not on special detail at Hogwarts, I want them here within the hour!" 

 

"Yes, sir!" Westbrook shouted as he twirled his wand in the air and watched as the Patronus floated in the air before disappearing through the wall.

 

"When they arrive, I want them to assemble in the main office. I'll brief them there for their individual assignments. That bastard down there thinks he's going to outsmart me," Kingsley said nodding at the door. "Well, he doesn't know what kind of a man he's dealing with, but he's about to find out." Shacklebolt's gaze drifted over to Westbrook. "Guard that door with your life. No person, unless he's with me, is allowed to go through." Kingsley spun on his heel, his long cape fluttering in the air behind him, as he strode to the elevator lift.

 

Kingsley stepped past the gate of the lift and was greeted by the pleasant voice of the lift. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic--"

 

"Save me your speech!" Shacklebolt shouted at the lift. "Just take me where I need to go!"

 

"Level please?" The cool voice pleasantly asked.

 

"Minister's office!" Kingsley growled through gritted teeth, as the lift gate and doors closed shut, and the elevator shot sideways through various walls and underground stone. "Have to make a note to replace that damned voice with buttons, like Muggles use," Kingsley muttered as he waited on the lift to reach its destination.

 

"You present the appearance of a man with a problem," the deep voice came from the area next to where Kingsley stood. "Am I correct, Minister?" Phillipe Moreaux slowly unfurled the invisibility cloak from his head and body. A sneering smile spread across the features of his lips as a mad, evil glint twinkled in his dark eyes. 

 

"Moreaux," Shacklebolt growled. "I should've known you weren't too far away. I thought I could smell your foul stench." 

 

"Little words for a little man, Minister. We need to talk, now." 

 

"Indeed we do," Kingsley said, reaching for his wand, as Phillipe reached for his. "This isn't for you, yet." He waved the wand in the air and spoke. "Lift, emergency halt by order of the Minister of Magic."

"Authorization acknowledged," the voice replied as the lift came to a complete stop. The sensation of motion disappeared, and the walls of the lift seemed instantly closer. The sound of Moreaux’s breathing seemed louder, the smell of his unwashed clothing more pungent.

 

Kingsley allowed his wand to point at the elevator floor, but did not pocket it. "You were supposed to do a job, and that job is still incomplete. The trial will begin at nine, and Lucius is still alive."

 

Phillipe stepped closer, brushing Kingsley's chest with his own. "I will finish the job when I am ready!" 

 

"You will finish the job, now!" Shacklebolt said as he shoved Moreaux to the other side of the small lift, causing it to sway. 

 

Phillipe began to reach for his wand, as Kingsley brought his wand onto the large man. "Go for your wand, and the last thing that you'll ever see will be my face. Perhaps it hasn't crossed that ego-maniacal mind of yours, but if Lucius is allowed to speak, he can destroy us both. Maybe you should have thought of that instead of going around killing innocent women."

 

"The whore was nothing but a play-thing," Moreaux said as he smiled and waved his hand in the air. "She tried to play 'kitty' with the wrong man." A low laugh escaped his throat as he finished his words. "She was an unregistered animagus, so I saved you and your people the trouble of dealing with her."

 

"Enough!" Kingsley said shaking his head to clear away the memory of the girl’s face. "There will be no further unauthorized killings!"

 

"Just like a man of your stature to take the fun out of everything," Phillipe sassed as he ran his hand through his greasy black hair.

 

"That's it! I've had enough. I knew you'd be nothing but…ahh!" Kingsley began, but shouted in pain as he grabbed his right wrist.

 

The silver dagger slowly slipped back into the sheath under the sleeve of Phillipe's robe. The razor-sharp edge left a small trace of Kingsley's blood on the edge of the fabric. "Now, you will listen to me, little man!" Phillipe began as he motioned his wand toward Shacklebolt's. The wand quickly drifted beyond Kingsley's reach as it hovered in the air above the two men.

 

"I will complete the job, but it will be done my way, not yours. Then you will pay me what you owe. After that, you’ll never see me again, but you will always have to ask yourself where I am and if I am coming for you."

 

"Your idle threats don't scare me, Moreaux," Shacklebolt winced as he held his bloody wrist with his left hand. "No matter where you go, I will find you," he said getting back to his feet. "I have resources--"

 

Moreaux laughed. “Resources you dare not use against me! Say that you did set one of your dogs on me. Imagine the talk we'd have if he were able to catch me.” 

 

Kingsley closed his eyes briefly, willing the man away. When he opened them, he forced himself to look directly at Moreaux. "You underestimate the loyalty of my aurors, but no matter. It will never come to that if you do your job. Now, what of Lucius?"

 

Moreaux slowly smiled. "You did say that you wanted this to be in public, did you not? Bring Lucius into the Atrium."

 

"Why would I do that? You never lead a prisoner into a public setting like that! It's strictly goes against all protocol!" 

 

"You're the bloody Minister of Magic!" Phillipe growled as he jabbed his finger into the wound on Kingsley's right wrist, causing him to fall to one knee. "Make it happen!"

 

"Details!" Kingsley gasped. "I must know details. Too many people could be hurt."

 

"That's all part of the game, Minister. You wanted it like this. Now you pay the price to witness it!" The low chuckle escaped from Phillipe's throat as he apparated out of the elevator lift.

 

Kingsley summoned his wand, and quickly healed his wounded wrist. The elevator lift continued until reaching its stop. Kingsley stepped out of the lift and into his office, slamming the door as he entered. "No, Moreaux, I will have the final laugh."

 

\----------------------------------

 

Janus moaned and tossed in his sleep as nightmares of his past haunted him in his dreams. A flash of silver, was followed by the feel of his own blood upon his skin, as his parents' screams echoed throughout the countryside until they were silenced. Janus screamed for the demon man to stop, but only found that his actions made him weaker as blood flowed from his wound. Then the demon stood over him, rhythmically rapping the silvery blade on his hand and causing small drops of his parents' blood to fall onto him. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each drop fell with a sharp sound. He winced and shielded his face as…

 

Janus screamed as his eyes opened in a blind panic. He sat up in the bed, his wand pointing all around the dark room. "Lumos!" The illuminated wand tip lit up the darkened room, revealing ghastly floral wallpaper and a picture of a plump-cheeked farm girl milking a cow. His muscles slowly began to relax as he leaned back against the pillows, causing the ancient bedsprings to groan. Wiping away the sweat from his brow with the neck of his shirt, Janus calmly spoke to himself.

 

"It was just a dream. Relax. You're fine. Remember why you're here," he whispered into the darkness as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. Gently, he placed the wand across his chest and eased his eyelids closed once more, as sleep slowly began to creep over him. The soft tapping sound from the dream started again, causing Janus to open his eyes. After a few seconds of searching the darkness, his gaze finally found the cause of the sound. 

 

"Arty," he whispered as he got up to let the owl in through the window. The owl gently flew to the bed, and landed on one of the square bedpost. "Have you found him?" The russet-colored owl turned her head in the direction of Milo's house and softly hooted. "Good girl," he said, petting the owl's feathers. "I promise you that when we get back home, I'll get you the biggest rat you've ever had. Go on out, I'll be there in a minute." 

 

The owl flew out the window and into the tree across the street. Janus quickly changed clothes and donned the long duster and floppy-brimmed hat. His eyes quickly scanned the clock next to the bed and read the time.

 

"Three in the morning," he whispered as he stood still for a moment, while his visions of Moreaux's death danced before his eyes. "As good a time as any for the bastard to die."

 

Minutes later, he quietly exited the inn and followed Artemis up the lane toward the home that had belonged to Milo Mycroft. "I should've known," Janus softly whispered to himself as he walked past the last business on the lane. 

 

Not wanting to be seen, Janus silently hurried over to a small thicket of trees and bushes several yards to the side of the home. Here, he had a clear view of the front and back doors. He stroked the light stubble on his chin as he thought on which door to enter. 

 

Suddenly, the sound of the back door opening caused Janus to stiffen next to the tree. Stepping out of the door and onto the small concrete landing was Phillipe Moreaux. Janus listened as the man grumbled under his breath. He abruptly stopped his muttering as he glanced over his shoulder toward the thicket. Janus could almost feel the man's dark eyes making him out as he hid among the shadows of the trees. He watched as Phillipe stood there, looking into the area before finally taking his stare away and waving his wand at the house. A soft light glowed over the house as Phillipe spun on the spot and disappeared with a pop.

 

Janus exhaled as his lungs screamed for air. He stepped out from the trees and walked over to the place where Phillipe had stood. "Hmm. A protection spell or maybe some kind of a sensory charm. Well, I know how to get around those." Waving his wand at the house, he watched as a blue light circled it and disappeared. "Now, let's see what's inside."

 

He stepped forward and turned the knob. The door silently opened as Janus stood on the threshold. "My time is at hand," he growled as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.


	35. Trial & Error

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were alot of parts that made up this chapter. Many details from the beginning of the story have all been building toward this chapter, so I hope that everyone will be pleased. I believe it's the longest chapter thus far, word length. I hope that everyone has enjoyed the story thus far and will continue to stay with us throughout this long journey.

Chapter 35: Trial & Error

 

The glow of the streetlight failed to penetrate Milo Mycroft's house, even when Janus stepped inside so that his own body no longer blocked the doorway. He imagined that the wan rays from the buzzing electrical light retreated in fear, daring to venture no further than the cold concrete stoop. A barrage of foul odors assaulted Janus' nose, and with no way to identify its source, the stench seemed a part of the gloom, as if the darkness were an animal filling the air with its fetid breath. His mouth watered with the metallic tang of blood, and his stomach turned from the notes of sewage and decay. His hand fumbled on the wall, found the light switch, and flipped it, but the darkness persisted. 

 

“Guess he forgot to pay the bill,” Janus murmured to himself. When he opened his mouth to speak, he could taste the air, and it made him gag. He raised his wand and willed the creation of a ball of light, directing the orb to float above his head. 

 

At his feet lay scattered envelopes, all of them unopened, most of them caked with dirt. As he noticed the accumulation of mail, something cold and wet landed on the back of his neck and dribbled past the collar of his shirt, following his spine. When a second drop fell, he reached back, touched the moisture, and then held his fingers in front of his face. The liquid had a reddish-brown tinge and a strong coppery odor. He looked up to see a dark, wet stain on the ceiling and stepped aside just in time to avoid another drop. After bending to wipe his fingers on one of the cleaner envelopes, he ascended the stairs to the left of the foyer, his ball of light trailing just behind. 

 

The smell grew stronger. He could now taste the blood and decay. Janus took the last few steps two at a time, darted across a hallway, and flung open a white painted door. Staggered by the resulting stench, he took a step back and steeled himself before creeping across the threshold of the tiny bathroom. Rust-colored liquid had flooded the tile floor, seeping out into the hall carpet. A gleaming porcelain sink stood untouched next to an open toilet that looked as if Moreaux had continued to use it even after the water was shut off. Gingerly, Janus flipped the lid down before pulling aside the pink plastic shower curtain surrounding the old-fashioned claw foot tub. 

 

“Mrs. Milo Mycroft,” Janus muttered.

 

The tub's occupant, of course, remained silent, her mouth frozen in an “o” of surprise, her eyes beginning to recede into her head. Fluids wept from the gash on her chest, and the bath water was opaque with her blood. A dark ring stained the porcelain, indicating days of evaporation, and the water level now rose only to the dead woman's sternum. A pipe below the tub leaked slowly, making a rhythmic plinking sound. On impulse, Janus yanked down the shower curtain and threw it over the tub, giving the deceased some semblance of modesty. 

 

As he turned back toward the door, something caught on the toe of his sneaker. He bent down and picked up a book. Its pages damp and discolored, the book had been lying open on the floor near the base of the toilet. Large, rust-brown fingerprints stained the cover, and as Janus flipped the pages he noted several more of the prints. He snapped the book closed and glanced at the title-- Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. 

 

“Who knew the bastard could read?” 

 

The joke fell flat in his own ears as Janus imagined Moreaux perusing the pages while sitting on the toilet, oblivious to the fermenting corpse in the bathtub. Janus turned in a slow circle, half-expecting to see Mrs. Mycroft's ghost. If anyone had a right to haunt the living, she did. The tiny room had been made a monument to Moreaux's depravity. Rage burned inside Janus, heating his face and making his hands shake. His fingers clenched around the handle of his wand until the butt of it ground painfully against the bones in his hand. 

 

“Scourgify.” He whispered the incantation, but the force of the magic flowing through his wand knocked him back against the doorjamb. He repeated the spell, shouting this time, and forcing his arm to remain steady. Again and again, he repeated it, until a voice in his head warned him that he was exhausting himself. 

 

He shook his head, berating himself for losing his temper. Save for the stained book, all visible traces of Moreaux were now gone from the softly gleaming porcelain. The force of his spell had flung the shower curtain into a corner, leaving the now-empty tub bare, its occupant vanished, wiped away like dirt. He hadn't intended that, and once again, he looked for the woman's ghost, murmuring, “Sorry,” even though no specters appeared. As Janus made his way down the stairs to wait for his prey, he wondered if the “Scourgify” spell would work on Moreaux's body once the man was dead, or perhaps even as a means to kill him. 

 

Near the bottom of the stairs, the air grew foul again. A breeze brushed Janus' face, carrying the scents of chocolate and decomposition. Still trailing the ball of light, he followed the stench into the kitchen, where night air flowed through a broken window, rustling a set of curtains stamped with stylized fruit. Empty ice cream cartons littered the floor, interspersed with bones and the wrappers from various snack foods. Something crunched under his sneaker, and he looked down to find a broken plate. 

 

None of what he saw fully explained the smell. Steeling himself, he flung open the refrigerator and then staggered back from the resulting miasma. A pair of golden eyes with dark, horizontal pupils stared back at him, framed by long, drooping ears. Four hoofed limbs and half of a rib cage were arranged around the head with a neatness that surprised Janus, given the condition of the rest of the house. Had Moreaux intended to eat the goat carcass before it spoiled, or was it left here as a surprise for would-be visitors? Janus shrugged and closed the door, his shoulders sagging with relief. It could have been worse. Much worse. 

 

Though the floor had a thorough cover of rubbish and the counters were layered in dishes, trash, and half-eaten food, the kitchen table remained clear, save for two objects placed near the center. Janus bent to examine them. One was a large, gaudy earring that trailed little streamers of silver sequins. Holding the earring up by one of its frills, he noted a dark stain on the back. Twisting his wrist, he examined the object from different angles, trying to think where he had seen it before. It had been recently... 

 

Blood and silver sequins... 

 

“Jett!” He closed his eyes as the image of the crime scene photo from the Quibbler flashed in his brain. The murdered performer had been wearing an earring like this one. Janus let the earring fall to the table, then changed his mind and put it in the pocket of his duster. He could return it to Tawny as proof that Moreaux was dead, his trophy taken back. 

 

The second object on the table was a wallet made of pale, clumsily stitched leather. Janus flipped it over, and what he saw on the other side made him sink into one of the kitchen chairs. He ran his thumb over the eagle stamped crookedly on the back and flanked by the initials W. W. 

 

“William Ward,” Janus whispered. 

 

Memories flooded back-- the frustration of a tedious Cub Scout project, the temptation to throw the damned thing in the trash can, the embarrassment he had felt when his father insisted on immediately transferring his money and cards into the wallet. He wondered if Moreaux had laughed at the poor craftsmanship when he collected his trophy from William's body. 

 

After tucking the wallet into his pocket with Jett's earring, Janus stood up and began to pace, oblivious the crunching, crackling, and occasional squishing sounds beneath his feet. It was almost as if Moreaux had wanted him to find the wallet. Why else would he have it with him after so many years? Almost as if Janus were expected... But, no-- the wards on the house had been simple, the kind used to discourage curious Muggles, not the kind of traps that one wizard would set for another. Had he known Janus was coming to kill him, he could have used any number of deadly counter-measures. The presence of the wallet had to be coincidence. Moreaux had been revisiting old memories, that was all. 

 

Satisfied, Janus exited the kitchen and descended a set of stairs leading to a den lined with cluttered shelves. A television set had fallen off its stand, littering the floor with broken glass. Some of the books had been taken from the shelves. An old college textbook on Nazi Germany lay open on the plaid couch, its pages stained with greasy fingerprints. In the corner, a record player sat intact, ready to play a disc entitled “Favorite Italian Arias” if the electricity were to be switched back on. Some of the kitchen trash had spread to the den, too. The coffee table held an open bag of potato chips and an empty rocky road ice cream container. 

 

Overall, the room seemed to reflect its original occupants more than Moreaux. A set of school soccer trophies lined one of the shelves, and the family photos below it remained undisturbed. Janus leaned close to the wall, examining the smiling faces. In one photo, a girl in uniform chased a soccer ball, blond pig tails streaming behind her as other little girls ran to catch her. 

 

“A daughter...” Janus pulled the frame from the wall and snatched the picture from the frame, tucking it into his pocket. 

 

If Moreaux had spared her, she could still be somewhere in the house, trapped or imprisoned. Janus' mind raced, envisioning things that made the scene in the upstairs bathroom seem comforting in comparison. 

 

“Little girl?” he shouted, too anxious to feel foolish. “Hey-- it's ok! You can come out, or you can call for help. Tap on the wall, stomp on the floor, anything!” He closed his eyes and held his breath, listening, but all he heard was the call of a bird outside. 

 

“If I find another body...” he muttered, unsure how to finish the threat. What more could he promise when he had already vowed unimaginable torment for Moreaux? 

 

He tore through the house, checking behind furniture, in cupboards, under piles of trash. He didn't smell another corpse, but then his nose might be dulled from the stench in the kitchen. Vaguely, he realized he was leaving prints everywhere. He would have to burn the place later, he had no choice now, but in the mean time, he had to find what happened to the little girl. 

 

In the master bedroom, he found an armoire askew, pulled far enough from the wall that he could see a gash in the wallpaper behind it. He used his shoulder to shove the heavy piece of furniture away and forced his fingers into the gap in the drywall where someone had cut a panel and replaced it. Behind the panel was a pile that looked more like the treasure trove of a pack rat than anything collected by a human being. A sock, a ring, a pair of glasses, a watch, a high-heeled black shoe, and other items sat piled atop a stack of newspaper clippings. Janus snatched the squares of newsprint and quickly scanned each one, reading them aloud. 

 

“'Hotel Owner Murdered,' 'Suicide at Local Pawn Shop,' 'Couple Slain in Park'... More trophies.” Janus sighed and let the rest of the papers flutter to the ground. “You've been busier than I thought.” 

 

He took the picture of the girl out of his pocket and frowned, wondering which if any of the items might have belonged to her. The sock was too big, the hair the wrong color, and the dark horn rimmed glasses would have looked strange on a child. He flipped over the picture, hoping it would have a name on the back. It did, and even better, it had a date. 

 

“Kathryn. Ninteen eighty-five.” 

 

The child in the picture couldn't be any younger than seven or eight, Janus decided. That would make her twenty now, old enough to be away at college, far from all this. He backed away from the wall and sat down on the foul-smelling bed, slumped with relief and a hollow feeling that might be disappointment. There would be no tiny, dismembered body stowed under a bed or in a closet, but there would also be no wide-eyed waif to save. 

 

“Guess it's not my day to play hero.” He replaced the picture in his duster, his fingers brushing the leather of his father's wallet. When his hand came out, the wallet was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. His fingernail followed the grooves of each W. Idly, he flipped the wallet open, expecting to find expired credit cards, receipts, and a punch card from the doughnut shop in Silver Lake. 

 

A flash of light burst from inside the wallet. Pain rippled up from his fingertips to his shoulders to his head. He tried to scream, but his muscles had seized, locking his jaw in place. His lungs still worked, but forcing air through his nose took a tremendous force of will. His ball of light vanished, leaving him with only the faint glow of predawn light from the window. Arms and legs frozen, he was stuck in a sitting position on the end of the bed. His mind raced in a desperate attempt to work non-verbal magic. Finite Incantatum! Mobulus! Accio, wand! 

Whatever curse Moreaux had set on the wallet, it was more than a simple freezing spell. It had somehow locked Janus' magic as well as his limbs. The spells echoed ineffectually in his head without the accompanying surge of power to which he had grown accustomed. Panic boiled up inside him. The smell of Moreaux's body wafted from the bed clothes, filling his nose as it had on the night his parents died. He was helpless, at the mercy of a creature that couldn't rightfully be called a man. A remembered voice reverberated in his skull. 

 

What are you going to do about it? 

 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Draco stirred, and the stiff linen sheet rasped against his skin. He flailed at it, batting the fabric away, only partially aware of his body. He had spent most of the night in a strange state where thoughts and dreams bled into each other. As he struggled with the sheet, it became the robes of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco clutched at the hem in supplication, pleading. 

 

“They had my father! They were coming for me next. I had to do anything-- anything he said, but I couldn't, I could never--” 

 

“I know what you're capable of. I know what you done in my house, with Harry--” 

 

The voice wasn't Shacklebolt's, it was Janus', but when Draco looked up, his tormentor was gone and the fabric he clutched was part of the shroud covering the Veil. His ankles and wrists were bound, and his father was playing cards with Janus. Both men grinned as if winning. 

 

Glass shattered. Draco craned his neck to see the remnants of Janus' potions glassware strewn across the stone floor. A dark shape darted away from the mess, hissing at the members of the Wizengamot. 

 

“You see!” Draco cried, pointing. “It wasn't me. It was the bloody cat, and Potter broke the mirror--” 

 

“Silencio!” Shacklebolt waved his wand. “For what it's worth, Malfoy, not even you deserve this...” 

 

“It wasn't me!” Draco repeated, clutching at the fabric of Harry's clothing, forcing him back against the wall of the tiny room in the Burrow. “You know the truth, you have to tell them...” 

 

Another crash came from below them, probably batty old Molly Weasley in the kitchen, except that it wasn't her, it couldn't be, because the sound had been real. Awake now, Draco freed himself from the sheet that had tangled itself around his arms and legs and shook the remainder of the dream from his head. After throwing on his robe, he stumbled down the stairs, moving toward the light from the kitchen. 

 

“Mother?” Draco murmured when he saw Narcissa standing near the stove. 

 

“Careful!” she whispered, gesturing to the floor, which was strewn with bits of china. She raised her wand, said a spell, and the pieces assembled themselves into a cup, saucer, and teapot. A second spell banished the dark liquid that had begun to seep into the grout. “It's been so long since I made tea myself.” She shrugged apologetically. 

 

“You shouldn't have to make it yourself like some...” Draco waved a hand, searching for an appropriately derogatory word before deciding on, “Weasley.” 

 

Narcissa shrugged again and turned to watch the teakettle as it hovered above the blue flames on the stove. 

 

“It's so early, Mother, what are you doing out of bed anyway?” Draco yawned as he glanced at the window, noting that it was still too dark to see outside. 

 

“I was hoping for an owl.” Narcissa frowned wistfully at the window. “I was so sure we would hear from Harry...” 

 

Draco flushed, remembering the story Janus had told him about meeting Harry and then asking to have his own memory erased. “Don't worry about Potter,” he said drily. 

 

“We could still escape, change our faces, find... employment.” Narcissa shuddered slightly at the word.

 

“Employment, where? Doing what?” Draco laughed bitterly. “You can't even make a bloody cup of tea, Mother!” 

 

“I can't, but you--” Narcissa took both of Draco's hands in hers and squeezed painfully hard. “You were a prefect at school, everyone admires you, and you even earned the trust of the Dark Lord—”

 

“Pity he's too dead to write me a letter of introduction then, isn't it?” Draco snatched his hands away. The tea kettle began to whistle, and he darted across the kitchen to move it from the burner, hoping the noise hadn't woken Teddy. 

 

“I only meant--” Narcissa began.

 

“I know what you meant!” Draco sighed. “It doesn't matter. I won't spend my life in hiding, looking over my shoulder. I've had enough of keeping secrets! Today, I clear our name, and we go back to Malfoy Manor where we belong.” 

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Narcissa murmured, her hands shaking as she put a tea bag in the pot and poured hot water over it. “And Lucius...” 

 

“He'll get what he deserves, and I'll enjoy watching.” Draco sat down at the kitchen table and rested his chin on his fists. 

 

Narcissa didn't answer but continued fussing in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, pulling out items and then putting them back. Sometime later, a cup of tea appeared in front of Draco, and he watched the steam rise from it until it went cold. The window began to glow as the sun rose. Draco closed his eyes, shutting out the intrusive light. Soon, more sounds came from the kitchen. He opened his eyes to see Andromeda with Teddy, who currently sported dark skin and wisps of silver-blue hair. 

 

“You should get ready,” Andromeda said quietly, her eyes sweeping over Draco. 

 

“As if it matters,” he replied, sneering down at his own wrinkled robes. She was right, of course, but it was hardly her place to tell him what to do. When Narcissa glared at him over Andromeda's shoulder, however, he rose from his seat and made his way upstairs where he showered, changed into fresh robes, and combed his hair until he looked like a respectable wizard. 

 

In the kitchen, he found Narcissa toying with a piece of toast at the table. Andromeda stood by the window, still cradling Teddy, who drank from a bottle clutched in his now-pale hands. 

 

“Eat,” Andromeda instructed, pointing to a plate of eggs, sausage and toast that sat next to a fresh, steaming cup of tea. 

 

Draco ate mechanically, staring down at his plate in order to avoid looking at his mother. He could feel her eyes on him, pouring over him as if he were a book whose contents she desperately wanted to memorize. She had done the same during the last few days of each summer vacation. When he had finished, he dropped his fork, breaking the silence with the harsh, tinny sound. 

 

“You can stop staring at me like that, Mother,” he growled. “I'm not going anywh--” 

 

A loud knock came from the front door. Narcissa gasped and put a hand to her mouth as Andromeda cooed at Teddy, who had been startled by the sudden noise. The knock came again, and Teddy wailed. Sighing, Draco rose and went to answer the door himself. He flung it open, ready to tell whoever it was to sod off, but when he saw who stood on the other side, he closed his mouth. 

 

“Good morning, Draco.” Kingsley Shacklebolt flashed a slick politician's grin. 

 

“Minister.” Draco tried to return the same smile, but his mouth rebelled, twisting and twitching. 

 

“I trust you have enjoyed this family reunion?” Kingsley asked. 

 

Draco opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again when he realized that Shacklebolt had spoken over his shoulder. He craned his neck to see Andromeda standing behind him, still holding Teddy. 

 

“They arrived this morning--” Andromeda began. 

 

Shacklebolt cut her off with a wave of his hand. “They arrived before my last visit, and they never left.” 

 

“I see.” Andromeda licked her lips and glanced around the house and yard as if searching for hidden watchers. “Then you are here to arrest me for harboring fugitives?” 

 

“I am here to escort Draco and his mother to the trial. It is for their own safety, of course.” 

 

Draco shook his head. “I don't understand. If you knew where I was, why not arrest me?”

 

It was Andromeda who answered. “Because it would hardly do for the new Ministry to be seen dragging a boy and his mother to Azkaban. Bad for public image, so to speak.” 

 

“You are uncharitable!” Kingsley frowned and shook his head. “I trusted that your family would do the right thing. That, and had they attempted escape, a team of aurors would have captured them immediately.” 

 

Draco tensed and shared a glance with his mother, who had come to stand beside him. “According to the Prophet, you're always sniveling about the Ministry budget, and you have galleons to spend watching me?” He snorted. “What makes me so bloody important?” 

 

“You are a loose end, Draco,” Shacklebolt said gravely. “People still whisper that you murdered Albus Dumbledore, and letting a murderer walk free would be bad for public image, so to speak.” 

 

“Then find Phillipe Moreaux and deal with him!” Draco growled. “I'm not the threat you should be worried about.” 

 

Shacklebolt's expression darkened at the mention of Moreaux, and one of his eyes twitched before he forced his mouth into an unconvincing smile. “In due time. Today, I have a trial to attend.” With that, he took Draco firmly by the wrist. “Now, hold onto your Mother's hand.” 

 

Before Draco could ask why, the sensation of apparition overtook him. 

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Draco’s feet touched the cobblestone surface of the brick-lined alley as the trio appeared from their journey. Mentally, the Slytherin noted the smoothness of the process, as compared to Harry’s clumsy travel by apparition. Familiar sounds caught Draco’s attention, and he turned to look over his shoulder. He watched as the busy morning commute of Muggle cars and other traffic on the street passed them, completely oblivious to three people appearing out of the air. For a moment, the thought of running out of the alley entered Draco's mind, causing him to groan softly. Knowing the end result if he did attempt to flee, Draco spun around and observed the rest of his surroundings, with a slight hope of seeing a familiar sight. His eyebrows creased as this hope quickly vanished with the unfamiliarity of the area.

 

“Where are we?” Draco asked. “There’s nothing here but brick walls.” 

 

“A very astute observation, Draco,” Shacklebolt replied.

 

“Is this the Ministry or not?” Draco huffed as his cheeks began to heat. “Father never mentioned anything about a brick alley leading into the Ministry of Magic.”

 

Draco watched as the large man slowly turned to face him, crossing his arms in the process. The sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt in this posture made him seem even taller and more imposing. “I bet there are many things that Lucius never told you.”

 

Draco stepped forward to challenge the man before he felt a soft hand pressing on his shoulder as Narcissa stepped in front of him, keeping the two separated. “I must agree with Draco, Minister. If this is the Ministry, then take us inside, immediately.”

 

“I assure you both that we are perfectly safe. And to answer your question, yes, we’re here at the Ministry.” Draco stared ahead as he felt Shacklebolt’s eyes scanning him. “If there are no further questions, then the entrance is at this end of the alley.” 

 

Draco felt his mother gently guide him forward as they both followed Kingsley down the alley. He guessed that a secret door would open from the bricks at any moment, thus allowing them to go inside the building. Moments later they came to the end of the alley and stood facing a large, blue rubbish container that was as wide as the brick wall behind it.

 

“And, now what, Minister?” Draco sassed under his breath. “Did you take a wrong turn somewhere from the other end of the alley?

 

A small twitch tugged at the bottom of the man’s lip as he looked down into Draco’s pale blue eyes. “Call me impressed. You actually do have a sense of humor after all.” 

 

Before Draco could respond, a loud meow rang from their feet. Draco looked down to see a fluffy black cat with piercing yellow eyes rubbing between his ankles. A second cat emerged from behind the blue container. This one was a short-haired orange feline that stood and placed its front paws on Kingsley’s leg. 

 

“Ah, Electra! There you are,” he said, bending down to scratch the cat’s ears.

 

“Bloody cat!" Draco shouted taking a step back. "Get away from me!”

 

“Mistoffelees! Come here,” Kingsley said as he snapped his fingers for the cat’s attention. The black cat instantly responded to Kingsley’s command, and turned away from Draco, lifting his furry tail a bit higher than usual. “You're not exactly a cat person, I take it?” 

 

“I can’t stand the beasts!” Draco yelled, his finger tracing the scar on his scalp from Socrates. “Ever since…”

 

“Since what?” Kingsley asked as Narcissa brushed Draco's fingers away from his scalp.

 

“Never mind, it’s not important.” Draco could feel his face heating again, but this time from embarrassment, not anger. He watched as the black cat leaped from the ground and into Kingsley’s arms. 

 

“Cats are very smart creatures. They can tell us plenty with one look, a few strokes of their tails, or a different pitch in their meows. They can sense things about people.” A soft chuckle escaped Kingsley as Mistoffelees growled and hissed at Draco. “You don’t have to read a cat’s mind to understand that.” 

 

“Feeling’s mutual, you brute,” Draco muttered as he stared at the cat, almost wishing the animal would try to attack him.

 

“Are they your cats, Minister?” Narcissa asked as Kingsley opened one of the black plastic doors of the trash container. 

 

“In a way, I suppose they are,” Kingsley replied while he reached into the bin and pulled out a large red bowl. He waved his wand in the air and milk filled the bowl. Shacklebolt set the bowl down on the ground, and both cats hurried to it to begin their meal.

 

“Right, well, in you go,” he continued, lifting the other door to the blue trash container and waving his wand to produce a small set of steps that led to the edge. 

 

“Are you bloody mad?” Draco snapped. “That’s a Muggle rubbish bin!”

 

“Two for two, Draco. I’m glad to see that you at least remembered something from your Muggle Studies class. Now, get in.”

 

“Mother, there must be another way in. I’m not setting foot in that thing!” Draco pleaded.

 

He watched as Narcissa’s gaze traveled from the blue rubbish container, to Draco, and then back to an impatiently waiting Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Minister, please! This is so unsanitary. Surely, there must be another way to go in?” 

 

“No, there isn’t. I created this way into the building to help avoid being seen in public. It’s my own personal passage into and out of the Ministry, when the time calls for it to be used. Now get up here before those two finish that bowl of milk and decide to use either of you as a sharpening post.” 

 

“Very well. Come on Draco, let’s get this over with.” Narcissa sighed as she grabbed her son’s hand and led him to the bottom step.

 

“Mother, please! Stop pulling me around like I’m a baby!” Draco shouted before glaring back at Shacklebolt. “Fine! I’ll step into your bloody trash bin, if it will make you bloody happy!”

 

“It will indeed, Draco,” Kingsley responded as he stood to the side of the bin, the small twitch of a smile toying with his bottom lip once again.

 

Draco reached the top step and looked into the bin, expecting it to be full of colored rubbish bags and nauseous smells. Instead, he saw only black emptiness. “Where’s the bottom?” 

 

“Never mind that, just step down. You will feel it, once you step inside. Then move over, as all three of us must be inside with the top closed before we can go any further.”

 

Draco grumbled under his breath as he cautiously stretched his foot toward the blackness. He winced as his foot began to disappear into the space. His mind prepared him for some kind of pain to erupt from his leg, yet it did not happen. Once inside, Draco moved to the edge of the container, as instructed. Next, Narcissa entered followed by Shacklebolt, who closed the top to the container.

 

The darkness and lack of space inside the container brought to mind a coffin, and Draco fought back the urge to jump out. He shut his eyes, trying to forget the darkness that surrounded them. A metallic sound echoed as the container seemed to move sideways. 

 

“It's time to get out,” Kingsley’s voice pierced through Draco’s closed eyelids. Draco opened his eyes to see his mother and Shacklebolt standing on the other side of a small doorway that opened into a stone-colored room behind them.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Draco followed his mother's footsteps as Kingsley directed them through several doors and down a series of corridors before reaching the door that led into the Minister of Magic's personal office. Along their route, aurors stood to attention as the group passed by, clicking their heels and thrusting their chests forward. They passed a small handful of witches and wizards who muttered insults and then scurried away after a look of disapproval from Kingsley. 

 

An old witch and wizard hurriedly passed by them. The witch politely nodded toward Kingsley, yet when she saw Draco and Narcissa, her face contorted into a scowl and she began to swear under her breath.

 

“Why don’t you try saying it to my face, you old hag!” Draco shouted at the old witch and her counterpart.

 

“Draco!” Narcissa spat as she grabbed her son’s arm to keep him from running after the old couple. 

 

"What's wrong with those fools?” Draco asked as they reached the door to Kingsley's office.

 

Kingsley looked over his shoulder at the old witch as she passed into the darkness of the torch-lit corridor. "They know who you are, and what you represent." His gaze drifted and met Narcissa’s eyes before he drew his wand and pointed it at the door. "Now, both of you inside before someone else hisses at you."

 

Inside the office, Kingsley extended his hand toward the sofa that lined the opposite wall from his desk. "I'm afraid it's a bit worn, but it is quite comfortable."

 

"Thank you, Minster," Narcissa said as she led Draco to the lime green sofa and sat down on the cushion beside her son. "May I ask a question?" Narcissa asked as she folded her hands into her lap.

 

"Please do, Narcissa. That's one of the reasons why you both are here right now," Kingsley replied as he pulled the chair from his desk across the floor, and angled it next to the sofa. 

 

"I thought we would be going to the trial once you brought us here. Am I wrong, Minister?"

 

"No. The trial will proceed today, but the Wizengamot is not yet ready to convene. I wanted to take this time to speak to the both of you, and try to find the truth on a number of details before--"

 

"Nice try." Draco spoke up, interrupting Kingsley. "Think you can get a confession this way, do you?"

 

A genuine smile spread across Kingsley's face as he shook his head. "Once again, Draco, you amaze me! Your lack of knowledge of Ministry laws and regulations is astounding." Draco's face turned a shade of red, like Ronald Weasley's hair, as his clenched fist trembled in anger. Before Draco could hurl another insult, Kingsley cut off his retort. "You still have much to learn about the rules of the Ministry of Magic and in particular how the Minister of Magic has to obey those rules all of the time. Let me guess…You believe that Lucius told you everything that you needed to know about the Ministry?"

 

Narcissa touched her son's hand, and Draco felt some of his anger dissipate. Reading his mother's eyes, Draco leaned back into the sofa, relaxing his muscles, and obeying his mother's silent pleas. “No,” he said softly. “I’m not a fool.”

 

"Perhaps not.” Kingsley shrugged, looking unconvinced. “Draco, I didn't bring you here to force a confession out of you or Narcissa. You will have your chance in front of the Wizengamot, but I must warn you about the circumstances of why you are here, and why you are being placed on trial today."

 

"I know why!" Draco huffed.

 

Kingsley leaned forward in his chair, his arms pressing on his thighs. "Then you know that you are being charged with the murder of one of the greatest wizards of all time, a man who had a significant amount of influence with the Wizengamot, and a man whom many people called, 'a great friend'.” 

 

Draco gritted his teeth and leaned forward, his own elbows digging into his thigh. "I didn't--"

 

"As Minister of Magic, I must keep all personal feelings aside, and judge the situation dispassionately. You will prove your own guilt or innocence."

 

"I'm trying to bloody tell you, Minister! I didn't--"

 

"Please, stop!" Kingsley said, waving his hand at Draco. "Telling me that you did or didn't kill Albus Dumbledore right now will not benefit you in the least."

 

“Then what is the point of this stupid conversation?” Draco demanded.

 

Shacklebolt sighed and shared a glance with Narcissa. “I only wish to prepare you for the ordeal to come.”

 

"Kingsley," Narcissa said. "You mentioned Lucius. What's become of him?"

 

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation as Kingsley opened the door. Stumbling forward, juggling several books and a handful of rolled parchment while fixing his skewed glasses, Percy Weasley greeted the Minister, and then slightly reeled as he caught sight of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy sitting in the room.

 

"It's alright, Percy." Kingsley reassured his young assistant while taking the parchment from Percy's hand. 

 

"Minister, sir. These important documents are for you, and there is a situation that is developing in the atrium that needs your urgent attention."

 

"What situation?" Kingsley's eyes flared to life as he glanced up from the words on the parchment and into Percy Weasley's face. 

 

"Um, well, you see, Minister…" Percy mumbled as he fiddled with his glasses, causing them to be crooked upon his nose. 

 

"Come on Percy, I don't have all day!" 

 

"Well, um, there is a crowd that has gathered in the atrium. Many of them are shouting for their removal," his long, bony finger pointed at Draco and Narcissa. "By force, if necessary, sir." 

 

"Word gets around quickly." Kingsley slightly chuckled as he concentrated once more on the parchment. "There's no need to worry, Weasley. I anticipated something like this, which is why I have some of my best aurors on duty today. Go and speak to Westbrook. Tell him that I want an area cordoned around the fountain for the onlookers to stand. Can't have them cluttering up the entire atrium. Once Draco's trial is finished, I'll go and issue a statement to them."

 

Percy slowly cleared his throat, which reminded Draco of Dolores Umbridge. 

 

Kingsley slowly glanced up from the parchment, as if irritated by the sound. "Yes, Weasley?" 

 

"I--I thought that the trial would be open to the public?"

 

"Absolutely not!" Kingsley shouted, slamming the parchment down upon the desk. "I will not have a circus in the courtroom! This trial will be closed to the public, due to the sensitivity of the circumstances that are involved with it."

 

"And what of the press, Minister?" Percy asked as he recoiled from Kingsley's outburst. "Already, you have several members from the Daily Prophet that are screaming for their 'freedom of the press'."

 

"Rita Skeeter?"

 

Percy nodded slowly.

 

"Damn her.” Kingsley growled, his fingers tightening around the edge of the parchment. Fine, I'll grant her access, but just to make it fair I'll give the old bat something else to write about. I want you to escort her and Lovegood to Courtroom Ten. Don't say a word to them. I'll take care of everything when I go into the room. That'll be all, Weasley."

 

"Yes, sir." Percy Weasley wheeled around before quickly stepping out of the office, and then closing the door shut.

 

"My apologies." Kingsley said as he looked up from the parchment at Narcissa and Draco. "Here, it's probably going to be a long tiresome day for all of us. I suggest that you eat and have something to drink." He flicked his wand, and a large plate of toast, sausage, and treacle tart appeared on the table next to Narcissa, along with utensils and a pitcher of coffee and tea. 

 

"Thank you, Minister." Narcissa said as she handed Draco a small plate. "Before I was interrupted, I had asked about Lucius?"

 

Kingsley stopped reading the parchment and gazed at Narcissa and Draco. "Honestly, your husband was one of the things that I wanted to speak to the both of you about." Draco could feel the piercing glow from Kingsley’s eyes as he shifted on the worn sofa cushion, trying to avoid looking directly into the Minister’s stare. “Tell me, Draco,” Kingsley continued, “what really happened at Malfoy Manor.” 

 

“And what makes you think I know?” Draco snapped, his eyes darting from Kingsley to the desk behind him. “You are the Minister of Magic, aren’t you? Don’t you already know what bloody well happened?”

 

Kingsley smirked as he sat down in the chair once again. “I see you haven’t lost that Malfoy wit, have you? I do have one version of the story about what happened at Malfoy Manor, but I need your side of the events to put it all together. Now, let’s be honest with one another, Draco, your little contingent was seen walking through the front gates of the manor, so that places you at the scene.”

 

Draco swallowed hard as Kingsley continued. “What was more fascinating was the report that Potter and his friends made up this little group. So, this does support the stories of the two of you in London together.”

 

“We didn’t kill anyone there!” Draco shouted, jumping from the sofa and pointing toward the window in the office. “I don’t care what rubbish the Daily Prophet says!” 

 

“Give me a chance to finish, before you bite my head off,” Kingsley calmly said as he stood, raising himself above Draco. “If I were to believe everything that the Daily Prophet has published about yourself and Potter, then you and I wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now. Now, sit back down.”

 

Draco deeply exhaled as he felt his mother’s hands tugging at the back of his robes. “Come, Draco, there is no need for all of this, right now.” The young Slytherin plopped himself back into the sofa, crossed his arms, and stared away from Kingsley.

 

“Now, to continue on. Yes, I had someone watching your home, but the contact had direct orders not to interfere with anything that happened there. They were on strict orders to report on anything that I deemed necessary to know of from Malfoy Manor. Your little party wasn’t the only one to visit Malfoy Manor. I also know that Arthur Weasley visited with a team of aurors, less than a day before your home was severely damaged.” Seeing that Draco was not going to answer, Kingsley turned his gaze elsewhere. “Narcissa?”

 

Draco heard his mother deeply inhale. “Draco, dear, you’re the one that wanted to stop running from everything. That begins with this. He should know what happened.” Kingsley motioned for her to continue, while he reached for his cup of tea.

 

“Ever since Hogwarts, Lucius has not been himself. Power and ego have clouded his mind, more so than ever before, and it’s as if he wants to take the Dark Lord’s place. Yet, he has spoken about protecting us, because of our lack of actions at Hogwarts.”

 

“Protection? From whom?” Kingsley quizzed as he sipped his tea.

 

“Death Eaters, or so Lucius has said. I suppose it would be those that have not yet been captured.”

 

“Interesting,” he said rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Yet, that’s a very unlikely scenario.” 

 

“But, what if it’s true?” Narcissa asked.

 

“Allow me to elaborate, please. After Hogwarts, the Death Eaters that were still alive fled into isolation and hiding. Without Voldemort to command and lead them, they are not as strong or as likely to mount any type of a counterattack. Yet, still they must be found and brought to justice. The wizarding world cannot suffer another war, or what we’ve had to endure in our past.” 

 

“Hence, your greater good?” Draco asked, causing both adults to startle. “Father had some kind of idea about a new world order. Yes, I did go back to the manor because I had unfinished business with him. He had mother imprisoned in our dungeon."

 

“What kind of man imprisons his wife in a dungeon?” Kinglsey asked. “For that matter, what kind of man has a dungeon?” 

 

“Lucius was unwell--” Narcissa began, but Draco cut her off, saying, “One that has outlived his usefulness. I meant to kill him that night. It's the reason for my unlikely alliance with Potter.” 

 

“Unlikely indeed, Draco. Why Potter?” 

 

Draco opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again when the words failed to come to him. His tongue darted out, moistening his suddenly parched lips. “It’s hard to explain, but for a time I didn’t see him as what everyone else perceived him to be; you know The Bloody Boy Who Lived, or some type of Gryffindor hero.”

 

Kingsley nodded. “I think I see your point. You began to see the person beyond the name, the real Harry Potter. The individual that lives within his soul and behind his eyes.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose that’s how someone like you would put it,” Draco replied, shrugging his shoulders. 

 

“From worst enemies to best friends, eh?” 

 

“Not exactly." Draco scowled down at the floor, suddenly worried that Shacklebolt might attempt legilimency. He took several deep, slow breaths as he put his mental blocks in place, guarding his memories of those few days with Harry. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be worried about Potter, though, not when Phillipe Moreaux is loose.”

 

“Oh?” Kingsley said as he slightly stiffened in his chair.

 

“He works for Father. On the night that I went to rescue Mother, it was Moreaux that destroyed much of the manor as he battled Potter’s friends.”

 

“Yes, that corroborates with what our observer witnessed. As he described it, a series of explosions came from inside the manor as windows shattered outward, and parts of the manor seem to be blasted apart from the inside.” 

 

His gaze drifted to Narcissa, who didn’t reply, but simply nodded her head in agreement. “So, Moreaux is loose again, and is bankrolled by Lucius. Thus, his story to the both of you about ‘other Death Eaters’ attacking Malfoy Manor. You’re very lucky to have survived Moreaux’s attack.”

 

“Where is Lucius, Minister?” Narcissa asked.

 

“Safe and secure right now, Narcissa. After the attack, we found Lucius unconscious in the dungeon. Therefore, he was taken somewhere safe. It looks as if you didn’t finish what you set out to do, Draco.”

 

“Bollocks! Someplace safe,” Draco replied as he stifled a snort. “It’ll be finished one way or the other.”

 

“I think that--" Kingsley started.

 

“Stuff your thinking!” Draco shouted, tossing his hands into the air. “You don’t know what it feels like. You can’t possibly understand because you’ve never felt an Unforgivable delivered by a man who tells you that he loves and cares for you!” Tears began to trickle down Draco’s cheeks as he continued. “I once wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps.” He sniffled, and swore under his breath while quickly brushing away the tears with the back of his hands. “And don’t tell me,” Draco started after regaining his composure, “don’t you dare stand there and give me some politicians’ lie about Ministry regulations, and how the Ministry can’t become involved in domestic disputes.” Draco’s chest heaved as his voice began to crack. “My own father used those curses on me, and even tried to kill me with the killing curse! And now he has this monster of a man working for him,” Draco said, tossing his hand at the window. “So what are you going to do about that, Minster?” 

 

“I found and captured Moreaux once before. The same will happen again.”

 

“But how many people will have to die before you do that?” Draco snapped as he stood up and walked to the window, his hands folded at the small of his back. “Yes, Potter and I bumped into him in London. A mere coincidence considering that all three of us were there at the same time that two Muggles were mysteriously killed, wouldn’t you say, Minister?”

 

“I have given that much thought.” Kingsley rose from the chair and walked over to the window, standing beside Draco. “And it’s the reason why you are not being held for their murders. I know that neither you nor Potter killed those two poor Muggles. Just remember the real reason why you are here today, and leave Moreaux to me. Now if the two of you will--"

 

“Before you usher us out, I have one more question to ask you,” Draco said, as he crossed the room and stood beside the sofa. “What do you know of a person named Janus?”

 

“Draco, no!” Narcissa hissed. “That man helped us!”

 

“That man, Mother, is dangerous, and is hiding something,” Draco spat as Narcissa got up from the sofa. “And I want to know what!”

 

They both watched as Kingsley paced across the room several times, muttering the name under his breath. “Janus and the WTF. James Ward!” Draco shouted, his patience at its end.

 

“Janus, yes I remember now. Dumbledore really went out on a limb with the Wizengamot to have the young boy placed into Hogwarts after…” Kingsley’s words trailed as he looked up from the floor, his gaze locking with both Narcissa and Draco’s. “After his parents' murder.” 

 

“Well, what about him?” Draco asked, as the words came from his throat in a shrill shout. “What can you tell me about him? Why were the Wizengamot against him being in Hogwarts?”

 

“Honestly, Draco, there isn’t much to tell you. He left Hogwarts shortly before the first war. From what little I remember, there were always a number of curious circumstances surrounding him. I haven’t seen him since then, though you said something about the WTF? The Wizarding Task Force.”

 

“Yes. Janus mentioned that he works for them in America.”

 

“I have a contact over there that can verify this.” A small smirk momentarily toyed with Kingsley’s lips until his eyes made contact with Draco’s stare. “Beyond this day, I would recommend that you keep your distance from Janus. With only the past and everything that surrounded him then to go on, until further information can be brought to light, I would be very careful if you come across him. It’s a good possibility that he is very unstable.”

 

Draco’s hand gently massaged his throat, and then went to the wound on his scalp. Feigning an itch he dropped his fingers from his head, as his arms went limp at his side.

 

“Well, I must say that this has been a very illuminating conversation. I am thankful for the opportunity to speak to the both of you. The information that you have given me will remain strictly confidential but will go a long way in helping us all.” Extending his long arm and hand toward the office door, Kingsley continued. “Now, outside my door you will find two aurors that will escort you to Courtroom Ten. I, along with the full Wizengamot, will join you both shortly.” He opened the door and watched as the two men flanked Draco and Narcissa, and led them away.

 

“Your time, Moreaux, has come to an end,” Shacklebolt whispered as he waved his wand for a purple Ministry memo to fly out of the room.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please!" Kingsley said as flashbulbs dazzled his vision and temporarily blinded him. "Please, I have an announcement to make. Would everyone please…" Kingsley shrugged as the noise and flashbulbs from the crowd escalated to a deafening roar. Questions rained down upon the Minister like fire from the sky, as the mob inched closer, moving past the fountain.

 

Loud red sparks crashed above the crowd, stunning them into momentary silence and causing many of the witches and wizards to back away. "Now!" Kingsley started, his voice echoing off the atrium walls. "I do have an announcement to make. I’ve just been informed that the reconstruction of Hogwarts is ahead of schedule. With good luck, the school will open on time or only slightly delayed." Approved murmurs and small rounds of applause came from the crowd as Kingsley continued. "I am sorry that you all have to stay here. However, once this hearing is over with, I will come back, make a statement, and answer your questions at that time." 

 

"Why can't we be at the trial? Why the secrecy, Minister?" A female voice shouted somewhere from within the group.

 

"Due to the intimate nature of this subject, and whom this trial surrounds, only a select few will be allowed in the courtroom. Once the trials are over with, I will provide all of the information that you will need."

 

"Minister, where is Lucius Malfoy?" A second female voice spoke from within the circle. 

 

"Lucius Malfoy is in the custody of the Ministry of Magic. Thank you, that's all for now." Kingsley turned to leave the group when a final question stung his broad back.

 

"What are you going to do about Phillipe Moreaux?" Kingsley stopped in his step as the question left a mental welt that made the muscles in his back twitch. He ground his teeth as the response came to his mind. Quickly he rounded, and marched right up to the crowd. "Who asked that?" A silence fell over the group as each person could feel the blaze coming from the Minister's eyes. "I said who asked that question!" 

 

A handful of people shifted to the side, leaving a smaller group of people. "Well?" Kingsley snapped as he shifted his gaze to the three men who made up this small cluster. He watched as the tallest man, gulped harshly, and stepped forward.

 

"I…I asked it, s--sir," the young man trembled. Kingsley sized the young man up as being approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. A light mop of fine, brown hair on his head matched the small freckles that were speckled onto his face. Black-rimmed glasses sat upon the bridge of this young man's nose, and an inexpensive looking wedding band clung to his thin finger. 

 

"And where did you hear of Moreaux?" Kingsley calmly asked, as two Aurors walked up beside him. 

 

"I--I didn't, Minister. It's…it's just a rumor that I thought you could comment on, s--sir." 

 

Kingsley dabbed his index finger onto his chin. "Ah, I see! A rumor. Well, I will tell you that I do not work with rumors, mister…"

 

"Ugh…Flanagan."

 

"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Flanagan. Do you have a child?"

 

"Yes-s, sir. A little girl."

 

"Do you find comfort and solace in the fact that you don't have to worry about some dark wizard, coming in the middle of the night to your home and murdering your little girl?" 

 

"Yes…sir," Flanagan gulped again.

 

Kingsley leaned closer to the man. "Thanks to the efforts of my staff, as well as myself, you and your family can sleep well at night. That's not a rumor, that's a fact." Kingsley began to step away from the man, along with the aurors, as Flanagan stood there, slightly trembling. "Now, once more, Mr. Flanagan, I will ask you, where did you hear about Moreaux?"

 

"No…nowhere Minister." A shaky attempt of a laugh escaped the man. "It's nothing sir, nothing to be worried about at all. Just a…a silly rumor."

 

"Exactly!" Kingsley announced as the crowd began to slowly gather back around the still shaking Flanagan. "If there were any substance to these rumors about Phillipe Moreaux, you would hear an official announcement from me!" He looked over the crowd at Flanagan. "And not from every witch or wizard that you meet in the street."

 

Kingsley turned once more to leave the crowd, but as he did so, the sound of a baby caught his attention. Spinning around he found the source of the baby's sounds. "Allow her to come through," Kingsley pointed at the Aurors to separate Andromeda from the crowd. Seconds later, Andromeda stood beside Kingsley, as the two exchanged words with their eyes. 

 

"Very well. I'll escort you to the courtroom," the minister said as he led Andromeda and Teddy away. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

Draco Malfoy shifted nervously as he sat waiting for Kingsley Shacklebolt to approach the podium. The Wizengamot had all taken their seats, flanking where the Minister would be standing. Draco watched as many of the witches and wizards, some in plum-colored robes and others in black, whispered to one another while occasionally stealing a glance toward him. A lone witch sat silently by herself, her pink brooch glistening in the dim light from the far corner of the back row. She smiled slightly at Draco as their eyes momentarily locked.

 

"Umbridge!" Draco whispered, leaning toward Narcissa. "What's she doing here?" 

 

"I don't know, Draco,” Narcissa replied.

 

"That bitch!" Draco heatedly whispered, causing Narcissa's eyes to widen in shock.

 

"Draco Malfoy, that's no way to talk about Dolores!" 

 

"No, I’m not talking about Umbridge, mother!" Draco whispered as he jerked the back of his arm away from Narcissa's grasp. "Her!" He tilted his chin at the blonde-haired witch who sat across the room in her acid-green robes, smiling and flashing her big, pearly, white teeth, and subtly winking at Draco. Her long, red nails tapped audibly on the arm of her chair. "And what's that half-fool Lovegood doing sitting there beside her?" 

 

A hand came down upon Narcissa’s shoulder causing her to gasp as she turned to see the person standing behind her.

 

"Andromeda!" Draco exclaimed, reaching for Teddy, as Narcissa hugged her sister. The smile that had surfaced on Draco's face quickly vanished as out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rita Skeeter mumbling to her wickedly green quick-quotes quill. The tip of the quill hurriedly scratched across the surface of her parchment.

 

"Sorry, Cissy, about startling you, but we just barely made it. Teddy became a bit of a handful after you and Draco had to leave,” Andromeda said as she sighed, sitting down next to Narcissa and holding Teddy to her chest. "What's wrong?" She asked as she looked into the faces of her sister and nephew, and traced their glare across the room. "Oh! Not her!" She turned back to Draco, and reached for his hand. "Don't worry about Skeeter. You go up there and tell the truth."

 

"Yeah, I suppose." Draco replied as swallowed dryly. His gaze shifted from Rita Skeeter back toward the Wizengamot. "What's Umbridge doing up there?"

 

"Dolores?" Andromeda asked, sitting fully into the back of the bench and scanning the faces of the Wizengamot. "I knew that she had been imprisoned, and I don't understand why she would still be allowed to be here."

 

"Have you heard from…Potter?" Draco asked. Just having to say Harry’s surname was a struggle for him.

 

Andromeda shook her head. "No, not a word." Draco exhaled and folded his arms across his chest. "I saw Arthur Weasley outside and asked him if he had heard from Harry. He said that they had not, either."

 

"Draco," Narcissa spoke up, cradling her arm around her son. "There's no telling where Potter could be." 

 

"I know where he probably is!" Draco spat, massaging his knuckles with his hand. "I suppose we know who we can trust, and it's not Potter!"

 

Draco's words ended as Kingsley Shacklebolt strode to the podium in his turquoise colored robe.

 

"Before we begin today's proceedings, there are a couple of matters that I need to address. First, we are joined in the courtroom this morning by representatives from The Daily Prophet as well as The Quibbler," Kingsley said, motioning his hand toward Rita Skeeter and Xenophillius Lovegood. "Also, we have with us the Ministry’s court scribe, Percy Weasley. I have a few words to say to our guests," he said turning toward Rita and Xenophillius. "Madame Skeeter, you are aware that quick-quotes quills are not permitted within this courtroom?" 

 

Rita flashed her large smile, and laughed. "But Minster, how am I to take notes without my quill?"

 

"Oh, you’ll have a quill, along with plenty of ink and parchment. But, you won't have that quill." He raised his hand. "Accio, quick-quotes quill." The green quill floated through the air and landed gently into Kingsley's large hands. He pretended to write words in mid-air, before giving Rita a small smirk. "It a very nice quill, Rita. Very flexible and almost perfect to the touch. I'm very much aware of your flair for writing, and your panache for telling a story.”

 

"Thank you, Minister," Rita hissed, but with a smile on her lips.

 

“Today, those qualities will not be needed as you will use this.” Kingsley raised his wand as a quill along with a bottle of ink and several sheets of parchment floated from Percy Weasely's table and landed in front of Rita. 

 

She touched the quill gingerly as if it had dung smeared onto it. "You’re too kind, Minister,” Rita replied, feigning a smile.

 

"This is most important," Kingsley started. "Today, the record will be set straight, and I want no deviation from anything that is seen and heard from this room to be printed. Mr. Lovegood your work for The Quibbler, while a bit unusual at times, is exemplary. Rita, you are here because I am allowing you one chance to redeem your work. I warn you, do not abuse my generosity."

 

"Now that we have the preliminary matters taken care of, let's turn our focus to the reason why we are here. Mr. Malfoy would you--"

 

A soft, throat-clearing sound resonated from behind Kingsley, causing him to stop in the middle of his words. "You have something else to add, Dolores?" Kingsley asked without turning around.

 

"Yes, Minister. I feel that what I have to say is most vital to the proceedings," Dolores Umbridge said as she stood. "I hereby pledge my full faith and trust in young Malfoy. While during my time as High Inquisitor and as Headmistress of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy was a shining beacon of the model student that is sat down by the Ministry of Magic guidelines. His devotion and unwavering desire are top among all students that I helped to guide and mold. His progress must not be discouraged and we as authority figures must preserve the special balance that a young man, such as Draco, brings into the world. I would find it immoral to cast a vote of guilt upon that young man's head."

 

"Thank you, Madame Umbridge, for that lovely bit of rhetoric. However, allow me to freshly remind you exactly why you’re still allowed to be a member of the Wizengamot, and caution you to know when it would be most fruitful for you to cease your speaking."

 

"Yes, minister," Dolores quietly said as she sat back in her chair, and looked dejected from Kingsley to Draco.

 

Kingsley craned his neck to look back over his shoulder toward the witch, before turning away from her and focusing onto Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, if you would.” Kingsley extended his hand toward the single, wooden chair that sat in the middle of the floor. 

 

Draco nodded and stood up from his place beside Narcissa. She softly grabbed his wrist, causing him to pause and look into her eyes.   
A small tilt of his head in understanding, Draco slipped his wrist from his mother's grip, and walked out onto the courtroom floor. His fingers lightly touched the wooden chair that sat before the Minister and the Wizengamot. Slowly, he edged himself onto the chair and looked upward. The cathedral-like ceiling seemed to stretch forever. Draco peered into the emptiness, expecting to see dementors hovering in wait.

 

Stars. Draco thought to himself. Beautiful stars. No dementors. Just a calm night sky filled with millions of glowing stars. Just like the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

 

"Mr. Malfoy!" 

 

The sound of his name brought Draco out of his daze. 

 

"What?" 

 

"I said, let’s begin by giving the court your full name."

 

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," he replied, his middle name hissing across his tongue.

 

"Thank you," Kingsley said. "Before we continue, there are a few items that I would like to speak to you about. First, this is not the courtroom of old. There will be no chains or ropes that come to life from that chair."

 

Draco glanced at the arms of the chair, imagining then seizing him and holding him in place. "Second, as you seem to be aware of now, there are no dementors allowed in this building. All dementors will stay within the boundaries of Azkaban prison. Third, I want to remind you of the charges that you are facing. If at any time, I feel as if you are not telling the truth, the hearing will stop, and Veritaserum will be administered. Do you clearly understand what I have said?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Very good. Once questioning has been completed, the Wizengamot will proceed with a vote of innocence or guilt, and sentencing will be carried out forthwith. You will be given proper time and opportunity to defend yourself. Are you prepared to do so, Draco?"

 

"I'm ready," Draco hoarsely whispered as ghostly visions of Azkaban prison danced through his mind. 

 

"Very well, then. Draco Lucius Malfoy you’re accused of murdering Albus Dumbledore. How do you plead?"

 

Draco felt his spine stiffen as he inhaled deeply. "I didn't kill Dumbledore."

 

"So be it. Mr. Weasley let the record state that Mr. Malfoy has entered a plea of not guilty." Kingsley deeply exhaled as he looked down from the podium, and into the blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. "Alright, Draco, it's your defense. If you didn't kill Albus, then do you know who did?"

 

Draco's lips instantly went dry, as the name of the person flashed into his brain. His eyes drifted toward his mother, and the many memories that he had of her. Teddy was the next person that his eyes found, as he remembered the happiness that he felt when he was speaking to and playing with the young child. The warmth and care from Andromeda were next for Draco to see, as she smiled her encouragement. As Draco continued to stare at his family, a door opened and closed in the distance. Narcissa turned her head in the direction of the noise, and Draco followed her eyes to the far end of the courtroom where a figure had entered.

 

As the figure approached the podium, Draco recognized the distinctive, arrogant strut. A painful lump formed in Draco’s throat, and his face heated with an unpleasant stew of emotions. A part of him wanted to fall at Potter’s feet and call him a savior, and another part wanted to strangle him for taking his sweet time and making a dramatic entrance.

 

Throughout the courtroom, all eyes were on the Boy Who Lived. Rita Skeeter tapped her chin with the end of the quill and began furiously scribbling on her parchment. Quiet murmurs rippled through the Wizengamot as Harry approached the podium, his eyes locked with Draco’s. When he reached the chair, Harry stood in front of it and placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders. Leaning so close that their faces nearly touched, he whispered, “I’m here, Draco.”

 

Draco put his hands on Harry’s forearms, planning to push the Gryffindor away, but instead he found himself gripping hard, probably bruising the tender flesh. “It’s about damn time!” he growled.

 

With an insufferable smirk, Harry stood up and jerked his arms, pulling Draco out of his chair and into an embrace that Draco returned without thinking. For an instant, Harry was all that existed. Draco’s senses filled with the sensation of their bodies flat against each other, the smell of Harry’s hair, and the sound of his breath. A heartbeat later, Draco realized with horror what he had done, and in front of whom. Scowling he pried himself away from Harry and fell back into the chair, his arms folded protectively across his chest.

 

"Don't worry," Harry whispered as he stepped away from Draco and nodded to Kingsley.

 

"This is certainly a surprise,” Kingsley said dryly. A chuckle rippled throughout the Wizengamot, and Skeeter’s quill danced across her parchment. Kingsley slightly shook his head as he gazed from Rita back to Harry before asking, “Are you sure this is where you want to be, Mr. Potter?”

 

"It’s where I belong, Minister," Harry replied, walking to the bench and sitting down next to Andromeda.

 

"Very well. Now let us continue," Kingsley said. "Mr. Malfoy?" 

 

Draco didn't respond as his gaze locked onto Harry's face. A smile crept over Draco’s face as it dawned on him that Harry was truly his. Even after the way Draco had hurt him, he had still come to Draco’s rescue, and he still wore that pathetic lovesick expression as he peered from behind those ridiculous glasses. The lump was back in Draco’s throat now, and he swallowed hard as he looked from Narcissa to Harry to Andromeda and Teddy.

 

"Mr. Malfoy?"

 

"What?" Draco snapped, his thoughts of Harry interrupted.

 

"Please pay attention, before I lose my patience!” Kingsley’s large hand quickly massaged the side of his temple before he continued. “You’ve told us that you did not kill Albus Dumbledore.”

 

“Yes,” Draco replied.

 

“Then who did?” Kingsley asked, a slight growl in his throat.

 

Draco inhaled deeply, and steadied his slightly trembling hands on his knees. "It was Snape. He killed Dumbledore."

 

Silence filled the room as all quills had stopped writing; even Rita Skeeter, was still, stunned by the revelation. Several members of the Wizengamot moved in their seats, causing a slight creaking sound to break the silence while others began to whisper. 

 

Kingsley cleared his throat and reaffirmed his grip on the podium. "Severus Snape?" He asked, leaning further over the edge to look more closely into Draco's eyes. 

 

"Yes," Draco flatly replied. "Snape killed Dumbledore, and then he led me down the tower steps, and away from Hogwarts. Potter and his friends tried to stop Snape and other Death Eaters, but we got away from them." 

 

"I’m well aware of that, Draco, as I was one of the members that you and Severus managed to avoid." Kingsley stepped out from around the podium and made his way down to the floor. "I want to see it, Malfoy. Your Dark Mark!" 

 

"What does that have to do with anything? You asked me who killed Dumbledore and I told you! I'm telling you the truth!" Draco shouted as Kingsley grabbed Draco's left arm and ripped his sleeve back. 

 

Kingsley stared down at the pale skin. "Why is it fading?"

 

"Because he's dead!" Draco shouted jerking his arm away and ripping the sleeve of his robe in the process. "Are you happy, Shacklebolt? Glad to see my Dark Mark?" 

 

Draco got up from the chair, making sure to stay away from Kingsley's reach. "Alright, yes, I was a Death Eater," Draco began. "My father was a Death Eater. I had no choice but to become one! I had to do what he ordered me to do."

 

"He? Voldemort?" Kingsley questioned.

 

"Yes! If I didn't do as he ordered, he would have killed me and my family! I fixed the vanishing cabinet to allow the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. He wanted me to kill Dumbledore, and I tried that night. I tried to force the words to come out, but I…I…I couldn't do it!” Draco shouted as tears began to stream down his face. "But Snape knew. That's why he came to the tower; to protect me. If the other Death Eaters had found out that he killed Dumbledore instead of me, they would have told him!"

 

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Please, gather yourself together." Kingsley replied as he walked back to the podium. "Why would Severus Snape protect a Death Eater?"

 

"He was a Death Eater as well," Draco said through hard sobs. "And now he's dead. One of the only people in the world that cared about me is dead." 

 

"I find this new information difficult to fully believe, Draco, so I have to ask you, do you have any proof to your words? Do you have a witness?"

 

Draco nodded and pointed to Harry, who had stood up from his seat.

 

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Please, come and offer us your testimony,” Kingsley said, motioning for Harry to stand beside Draco.

 

"You are fully aware that you are not on trial, Harry?" 

 

"Yes,” Harry replied, as the fingers of his left hand lightly touched Draco’s arm.

 

"Proceed."

 

Harry began to pace in the area beside Draco, his eyes briefly connecting with Draco’s. "Draco is telling you the truth. It was Snape that killed Professor Dumbledore." 

 

"Can you prove this?" Kingsley asked before Harry could continue.

 

"Yes, but let me continue as there is more to it," Harry replied as he stopped pacing, and stared right into Draco's face, before turning to look as Kingsley. "Professor Dumbledore was already dying.” 

 

Harry expected a series of murmurs and whispers, or even a question to come from members of the Wizengamot, yet when he heard nothing but silence, he continued to speak. “You see, in the summer prior, Dumbledore found one of Voldemort's horcruxes. It was the ring of Salazar Slytherin, but it was cursed. Dumbledore put the ring on, and instantly the curse began to course into his body. The professor returned to Hogwarts where Snape helped to stem the curse in his hand, but they both knew that it was too late. Knowing his fate, Dumbledore instructed Snape on what to do, and why it had to be done. Professor Snape promised Dumbledore that he would do as the headmaster wished.

 

"Just a moment, Harry," Kingsley interrupted. "You're telling me that Severus Snape was both a Death Eater and a member of the Order?"

 

"Well, not exactly a member of the Order, but he was loyal to Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore knew everything about Voldemort, including what Draco had to do in order to allow the Death Eaters inside of Hogwarts through the use of the vanishing cabinet."

 

"And Dumbledore knew of this?" Kingsley said, towering over the podium.

 

"Yes, I believe that he did," Harry nodded. "You see it was all part of Dumbledore's plan, and everyone had their parts to do within the plan, no matter the cost. Snape informed Dumbledore about Voldemort’s plans, and in return Snape carefully misinformed Voldemort.

 

"Professor Dumbledore knew that he was going to die, so he had to have everything planned, and all countermeasures ready, which included his death. He made Snape promise to kill him, in order to save Draco's life."

 

"That’s quite an interesting story," Kingsley said neutrally, “and a convenient one for Mr. Malfoy. Given that Professor Snape isn’t here to speak for himself, we have only the word of Mr. Malfoy’s…” Shacklebolt frowned as he looked from Harry to Draco and back. “What, exactly, is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Malfoy?”

 

Draco bit his lip until it bled, preferring the concrete pain to the sensation of dread. Mere seconds passed between Shacklebolt’s question and Harry’s reply, but each one felt like an eternity.

 

“That doesn’t matter.” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “As I said before, I have proof.”

 

“And that is?” Kingsley asked.

 

"I was there with Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower. We had just returned from finding another horcrux, when we spotted the Dark Mark above Hogwarts. Dumbledore knew then what had to be done. We flew to the Astronomy Tower and he placed an invisible spell over me, but I saw everything. Professor was weak from the poison that he had to swallow in order to retrieve the horcrux, and he allowed Draco to easily disarm him. Yet no matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't say the words." 

 

Harry turned to look into Draco's eyes, as the pain of remembering the sounds and feelings of that night entered both young wizards. "Snape appeared shortly afterwards, as Dumbledore called out for him to do what had to be done before the other Death Eaters arrived. Keeping his promise to Dumbledore, Professor Snape sent the killing curse into his chest." 

 

The courtroom was silent once more. "I was the last person to see Professor Snape alive, after Voldemort had set Nagini on him.”

 

“If Voldemort trusted Snape, why then would he kill him?” Kingsley asked, as his fingers tapped on the podium.

 

“With Snape’s dying words, he gave me a memory from his mind. The proof and the answer to your questions are in that memory, if the Wizengamot wish to see it." Harry reached into his pocket and removed a small vial.

 

Kingsley motioned for Harry to approach him and carefully took the vial from Harry’s hand, holding it up to the light and squinting at the swirling liquid inside. With his free hand, he beckoned one of the court aurors and said, “Go, bring me a pensieve.”

 

After nodding assent, the auror apparated away. Kingsley set the vial down on the podium and rested his hands on either side of it. The room filled with small, restless sounds of anticipation: the tap of a booted foot, the rustling of fabric, and the creaking of chairs as people shifted in their seats. Lovegood and Skeeter both scribbled intensely on their parchments. Harry returned to his place between Narcissa and Andromeda, though his eyes remained on Draco.

 

After several minutes, the auror returned, bearing a large metal bowl which he balanced against his body with intense concentration. Shacklebolt waved his wand, conjuring a small table in front of the podium, and the auror set the pensieve on it, looking relieved to put the device down.

 

“Come,” Shacklebolt gestured to the members of the Wizengamot. When Rita Skeeter began to rise from her seat as well, he shot her a look of disapproval and shook his head. The reporter sank back into her chair, pouting, as members of the Wizengamot surrounded the table, blocking the view of the pensieve with their bodies. The minister waved his wand again, and the next words he spoke could be heard only as a vague buzzing sound.

 

Time seemed to stand still. The room had gone silent, with even the scratching of quills stopped. A sickening trickle of sweat streamed down Draco’s sides. He could hear his own heartbeat. In a moment of paranoia, he glanced around the room, wondering if everyone else could hear it, too.

 

How long does it take to watch a bloody memory? Draco wondered.

 

Teddy began to cry, and for a moment the members of the Wizengamot glanced up at Andromeda, who rose from her chair and raced out of the room with the infant. When she returned, Teddy asleep on her shoulder, nothing had changed save the dampness of Draco’s robes, which now clung to his sides.

 

Just as Draco began to think that this was worse than going to Azkaban, the members of the Wizengamot returned to their seats. Dolores Umbridge was grinning, while a few of the others dabbled at their eyes with their sleeves. Shacklebolt himself was expressionless as he returned to the podium.

 

"Draco Malfoy,” the Minister intoned, “would you please stand?” Draco stood, yet felt the weight of his body pressing down upon his knees. “How do the members of the Wizengamot find the accused?" Kingsley asked without turning to face the Wizengamot.

 

Slowly, each member of the Wizengamot stood. Then, clearly and in unison, the word, "innocent," came from the members. 

 

"Before I finalize the Wizengamot's decision, I want to personally thank you, Harry, for coming forward and sharing this information with us. I believe now that we all can finally find peace and solace with this conclusion," Kingsley said as he turned from Harry to Draco. "Draco Malfoy, you are hereby acquitted of all charges."

 

Blood pounded in Draco’s temples as the verdict sank in. His knees buckled, and he stumbled, only to be steadied by a strong pair of hands on his hips. He fell against Harry, letting him clasp his arms around Draco’s waist and squeezed. His own hands, still shaking with relief, drifted to the small of Harry’s back. When Harry started to pull away, Draco tightened the embrace as the two stood in place as one. "What about her?" Harry asked, jerking his chin toward Rita Skeeter. 

 

"I don’t care! Right now, all I care about is you, Po---Harry. You saved my life," Draco said, his eyes beginning to sting. "After all of the things I've said, after what I’ve done..." He released Harry and stepped back, shaking his head.

 

"You should know, Draco that I always have to do the right thing. And I couldn't live with myself if I let you go to Azkaban." 

 

Before Draco could reply, he and Harry were smothered in warm, soft hugs by Narcissa and Andromeda, each of them murmuring thanks and congratulations. 

 

A soft clearing of the throat caused the group to quickly split apart. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood before them, his hand outstretched. "Once more, Harry, you have saved someone. It's starting to become a habit of yours!" He said, crushing Harry's hand in a warm handshake. "Mr. Malfoy, thank you for your information today, and I'll check on what we spoke about earlier today.”

 

"Thank you, Minister," Draco replied, shaking the man's hand.

 

"Narcissa, Andromeda would you both wait in my office? I think a public statement with these two young men would go a long way in clearing the air about all of this. After that, we can get you all out of here without making a scene."

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

"Good publicity?" Harry asked as he, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Draco Malfoy entered the lift. "Honestly, Minister, I'm not sure that speaking to reporters right now is the best thing to do."

 

"Of course it is, Harry," Kingsley beamed as he placed his large hands upon both Harry and Draco's shoulders and squeezed. "Your…relationship with one another is your own business, but to clear away lingering doubts about Albus’ murder, I think a few words are worthy of being said. You’ll both do just fine. Give them ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers, and I’ll take care of the rest." 

 

“Let’s just get on with it,” Draco growled. “Then the Ministry can move onto something that really matters, like catching Phillipe Moreaux.”

 

Shacklebolt flinched at the mention of the name, and his hands clenched briefly into fists. “I don’t recall hiring you to advise me on how to run my government!” Kingsley snapped.

 

“If you don’t catch him soon, at least one more man is going to die,” Harry said. 

 

“Indeed? Do you have information that I do not?” Shacklebolt tilted his head as he turned to look at Harry. 

 

Harry’s knees wobbled when the lift made a sudden turn. “It’s Janus,” he said, as a hollow pain numbed his body.

 

“Small loss,” Draco muttered. “If Janus and Phillipe kill each other, that’s two birds with one bloody stone…”

 

Kingsley silenced Draco with a glare before turning back to Harry. “As I told Draco earlier today, Janus himself may be dangerous.” Kingsley sighed, crossing his arms. “What makes you think he will be Moreaux’s next victim?”

 

“It’s a vendetta of his. Janus is going after Phillipe even if it gets him killed. He cares about killing Moreaux more than…more than anything or anyone. You’re wrong about him, though, Minister. He’s a good man.”

 

"That's just what I need, now,” he said tensing the muscles in his neck and causing them to pop. “A damned vigilante with a thirst for blood," Kingsley growled. “How do you know that you’re not wrong about him, Potter? What if he’s only allowing you to see what he wants you to see?”

 

“He was, at first, but then…” Harry felt a flush creeping into his cheeks as he remembered what it had felt like when Janus began to trust him. “He’s a friend. It’s a…a feeling I have.”

 

“You’re willing to risk innocent lives because of a feeling that you have? Kingsley asked, as his large finger tapped on his forearm. “Not everyone’s a friend or an enemy, Harry." Kingsley glanced at Draco before continuing. “The world is not simply black and white. You’d do well to keep that in mind from now on, Potter,” Kingsley sternly warned as the lift began to slow, bringing the Atrium into sight. "What the…" Shacklebolt began as the lift stopped. "No!" 

 

"Minister?" Harry asked as he stepped toward the doors.

 

"Both of you, stay in this lift! Don't set foot out of here until I tell you to do so. Do as I say!" Kingsley ordered as he closed the lift doors, leaving Harry and Draco in the confined space.

 

"What's wrong with him?" Draco asked.

 

“I don’t know.” Harry peered out into the Atrium, confused. “Maybe it’s Janus! He might have shown up after all.”

 

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Draco snorted. “What will it take to make you see the truth about him? I knew that Janus was trouble, but you wouldn't listen to me, and now look. Even Shacklebolt is telling you that he's dangerous, and can’t be…” Draco's words trailed off as he stepped forward to the lift doors, his eyes fixed on something that made them go wide.

 

Harry edged closer to the doors and craned his neck to see what Draco was seeing. When familiar locks of silver hair caught his attention, he gasped and found Draco’s hand with his.

 

“Father,” Draco whispered.

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

"For the love of Merlin, what the hell's going on here?" Kingsley angrily asked as he stormed to the Auror who was standing beside Lucius Malfoy. "Westbrook! I demand an answer!"

 

The Auror released his grip from Lucius' arm and saluted Kingsley. "Just doing what you ordered sir! Your order said to bring the prisoner here before the first hearing finished."

 

"I never wrote anything like that. I wanted Lucius kept away until I came to collect him, not to have him displayed before everyone to photograph!" Kingsley motioned for the other Aurors to push the people away from where they stood. "And why can't he speak?"

 

"Just doing what your letter clearly stated." Westbrook reached into his pocket and brought forth the purple Ministry parchment. "It's got your signature and everything on it, sir." 

 

Kingsley took the small note, read it, and ripped it apart. "Listen to me, Westbrook," Kingsley whispered. "We've been set up. Take Lucius to the other lift and get out of here immediately. I want you to take him back to his room, and stand there beside him until I arrive. The rest of us will get these people out of the Atrium. Do it quietly, and do it now."

 

"Right, sir!" Westbrook saluted again as he pulled Lucius' manacles toward one of the lifts. 

 

Kingsley began speaking to the other Aurors, and then addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, due to a matter of security I am going to ask that everyone proceed directly to each grate that you came in from." Angry shouts came from the mob as the Aurors walked in front of Shacklebolt, forcing the people to walk the other way. "I am sorry, but it is for your own safety."

 

An ear-splitting hissing sound filled the room, causing all of the occupants to reach and cover their ears. The Atrium fountain suddenly began to gush and swirl, as if the water inside it were in a maelstrom. A hazy blue mist appeared above everyone, filling the room and extinguishing the lit torches that lined the walls. 

 

"Lumos!" Kingsley shouted as the deafening hissing sound subsided, even though the blue mist hung above them and the water of the fountain churned. The other Aurors lit their wands and the room filled with foggy beams of light trying to cut through the blue mist. 

 

A bright light flashed inside the blue mist as the Dark Mark appeared above. The witches and wizards who had begun to walk toward the grates screamed and ran through the darkness, colliding with whomever or whatever was in their paths. 

 

"Please! There is no need to panic!" Kingsley shouted as he scrambled forward, but stopped in his steps as the voice of Voldemort came from the Dark Mark above them all.

 

Fools! How dare all of you think that the greatest dark wizard of all time is dead! Now, witness the wrath of darkness as vengeance will be mine! 

 

"Damn him!” Kingsley growled to himself. "Aurors, fire into the Dark Mark, at my command!" He shouted as jets of red light blasted into the Dark Mark, causing it to explode into sparkles that rained helplessly down onto the floor.

 

"Avada Kedavra!" The words came from behind Kingsley as his Auror instincts kicked in, and he rolled away from the direction of the words. The blue mist faded away, as the torches along the walls re-lit the room, revealing the grisly image. 

 

"Well, well, well, Minister. You're a step slow and a day late, old man," Phillipe Moreaux gestured as he stood over the dead body of Lucius Malfoy. At once, the Aurors pointed their wands toward Moreaux. "Not a good idea," Phillipe taunted as he wagged a finger at the Aurors. Moreaux slowly smirked, revealing yellow-stained teeth, before slowly allowing his eyes to trace his outstretched arm, following the path of his aimed wand. "It would be such a pity to lose another Malfoy and his Gryffindor hero in the same day. Could you live with that loss, Minster?"

 

"Everyone, lower your wands, now!" Kingsley shouted. "Alright, you've won this time, Moreaux, but what have you done with Auror Westbrook?"

 

Phillipe scratched at the coarse stubble on his face, pretending to grope for the answer. "Oh, him! Our dearly departed Lucius will have joined him by now on the other side. I'm afraid that death is a debt that you all must pay, eventually." 

 

Kingsley stood rooted to the floor, anger flooding his every pore. "You can run. You can hide in the foulest of places. But no matter what, I will track you down and bring you to justice!"

 

"With your dirty hands?” Phillipe snorted as he placed his booted foot on Lucius’ back. “You do that and I’ll be sure to ask for Veritaserum at my trial. Now, the time has come for me to bid you adieu. I have…” he grinned and looked over Shacklebolt’s shoulder, locking eyes first with Harry, then with Draco, “…work to do.”

 

With those final words, Phillipe Moreaux and Lucius Malfoy's dead body disappeared.


	36. A Finger's Breadth

Chapter 36: A Finger’s Breadth

 

 

“Get to work!” Shacklebolt barked, clapping his hands to get the attention of the stunned aurors, who had just begun to lower their wands. “I want the building cleared, and I want Phillipe Moreaux found and arrested. This is top priority!” 

 

The aurors all gave their assent, and several apparated away while the remainder set to work rounding up the onlookers that remained. Shacklebolt himself started across the Atrium, pausing here and there to give orders to an auror or speak with one of the confused spectators. In addition to the people who had never left the atrium, the members of the Wizengamot were just now making their way to the scene, along with Narcissa, Andromeda, and Teddy. Seeing them, Harry stood on his toes and waved, motioning for them to come over. Draco remained frozen in place, staring at the spot where Lucius had fallen. 

 

Wearing a triumphant grin, Rita Skeeter pushed her way past the two women and strode toward Harry and Draco. As she approached, a short, balding man in drab brown robes stepped out from behind the fountain, looked around to verify that the aurors were all busy shoeing other people away, and began to walk toward Harry and Draco as well. Like Skeeter, he carried a quill in one hand and a small notepad in the other. 

 

“Harry,” Rita panted, winded from the quick pace of her walk, “why would the savior of the wizarding world risk his own newly-restored reputation in order to save a known Death Eater? Would your appearance in the courtroom today have anything to do with the time you and Draco spent together in London?” 

 

“Whatever you say, she'll twist it to mean what she wants it to mean,” Draco muttered. “Don't answer her, Potter.” 

 

“Ri-ight,” Rita licked her lips, tilted her head, and turned to scrutinize Draco. “So Harry Potter takes direction from you now, then?”

 

“No!” Draco spat. 

 

“I see.” She scribbled something on her parchment and nodded to herself. “So how long have the two of you been, shall we say, close friends?” 

 

Standing just behind Rita, the bald man chuckled. “Really, Skeeter? That's the story you're working?” He had a strange, nasal accent that Harry guessed was American, although he sounded nothing like Janus. 

 

“Readers will be dying to know, Stan. Who doesn't prefer a bit of human interest over another expose on the price fixing of flesh-eating slug repellant?” 

 

Ignoring her, the man addressed Harry. “Stan Sharpe, Daily Prophet. Mr. Potter, what's your reaction on hearing that Voldemort has returned?” 

 

“What--” Rita began stammering. She turned in a slow circle, seeming to note the destruction around her for the first time. 

 

“You can read all about it on the front page tomorrow,” Stan promised her, “right under my byline. Now, back to the question, Mr. Potter--” 

 

“It's not Voldemort,” Harry cut the man off. “I'm sorry if it spoils your front page story, but this is all some...” He flapped his hands, searching for a word. “Some prank!” 

 

“Lucius Malfoy murdered the day of his trial, you call that a prank?” Stan tapped his pad with the end of his quill. 

 

“It wasn't Voldemort!” Harry snapped. “If it were, I would know, I would feel it.” 

 

“Because of your...” Stan traced an imaginary lightning bolt on his own forehead. 

 

“Because of my connection with him, yes. I. Would. Know.” Harry looked Stan in the eyes as he spoke, emphasizing each word. 

 

“And is it your connection with dark magic that drew you to Draco Malfoy?” Rita piped in, smiling. 

 

“You're unbelievable,” Stan muttered to Rita before jogging away to catch up with Shacklebolt.

 

“My son has nothing to say to you,” Narcissa said sternly, moving to stand between Rita and Harry. “Neither does Harry.” 

 

Undaunted, Rita turned her smile on Narcissa. “Then perhaps you would like to share your thoughts on your son's choice of--” 

 

“Enough!” Andromeda barked. Holding Teddy against her body with her right arm, she draped her left protectively across her sister's shoulders. “My sister and nephew have just lost someone close to them. Even a vulture like you can understand that.”

 

Before Rita could reply, a harried-looking auror took note of the small group. Gesturing with his wand, he said, “Move along, move along, by the order of the Minister of Magic!” 

Skeeter's eyes narrowed and her head tilted slightly as she eyed the auror as if sizing him up. Her eyes lingered on his wand, then his face. Apparently not liking what she saw there, she pivoted and sauntered off in the direction of the nearest exit. Someone across the room caught the auror's attention, and he left as well. 

 

Narcissa stepped away from Andromeda and turned to face Draco. With one hand on his shoulder, she used the other to lift his chin so that he had to look at her instead of the spot on the floor he seemed to find so captivating. “It's finished now.” 

 

“It won't be finished till we track down Moreaux and whoever it was who set him on Father!” Draco pounded his thigh with his fist for emphasis. 

 

“Weren't you going to kill Lucius yourself?” Harry asked, puzzled. 

 

“I had the right to, after everything he did to me, to Mother! I had the right!” Draco spun away from his mother and moved to stand in the spot where Lucius' body had lain. “For someone else to...” Draco's words trailed off into a growl. “I don't expect you to understand. It's a matter of honor.” 

 

“You're wrong. I do understand. Moreaux has to be stopped, but you can't beat him by flying off in a rage. If all of us work together--” 

 

“Because that worked so well before?” Draco laughed humorlessly. 

 

“We won't make the same mistakes,” Harry promised. He stepped toward Draco as he had during the trial and caught him by the shoulders. Draco tensed but did not pull away. Encouraged, Harry let his hands slide downward. Taking both of Draco's hands in his, he brought them to his chest. “Give me time to think and plan and get everyone working together.” 

 

“Fine.” Draco jerked his right hand free, keeping his left hand joined with Harry's right. “Let's go home. I'm tired of this place.” 

 

Andromeda nodded agreement. “Yes, I've seen enough of the Ministry for today, and Teddy will be glad to be back in his room.” 

 

Draco shook his head. “I didn't mean your house. I meant home.”

 

Narcissa's eyes went wide. “But, Draco, the mess!”

“That's what house elves are for, but they need someone to give them orders. I'm not hiding anymore, and I'm not taking charity. We're going back to claim what's ours.” Draco used his free hand to seize one of Narcissa's wrists. 

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Narcissa murmured, looking unconvinced. “Harry, you're coming, too, yes?” 

 

“Not now.” Reluctantly, Harry pulled his hand free and took a step back. Breaking away from Draco was almost physically painful, but the mention of house elves had reminded Harry of something he needed to do. “I never had a chance to bury Kreacher.” 

 

“You're as bad as Granger!” Draco rolled his eyes, and his lip twitched with irritation. “Go bury the bloody elf, then. You know--” he locked eyes with Harry for a moment before looking down at the gleaming stone floor. His face turned a deep crimson. “-- you know where to find me when you're done.” 

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

Powerful fingers released the silver strands of hair causing the lifeless body to fall onto the dirty kitchen floor. “Couldn’t have you slipping away to who knows where and ruining things.” Moreaux closed his eyes and deeply inhaled, savoring the job that he had just completed. “Perfection such as that requires a drink, don’t you agree?” 

 

Phillipe reached toward the littered countertop for the one unbroken bottles of liquor that stood amongst the shattered remnants. “They say this stuff will kill ya, but I say it’s all bollocks,” Phillipe smirked, as a low chuckle escaped his throat after swallowing the alcohol. “Not bad, for a Muggle-made brew. Like some?” He asked, holding the bottle above the dead body. “Not like it will hurt you anyway. Drink up.” 

 

He tilted the bottle forward, spilling a small sample of the liquid. His gaze drifted from the dark droplets of alcohol that soaked the silver-colored hair over to the open refrigerator door, and to the severed animal’s head that stared back at him. Spinning around, he scanned the table in the kitchen, searching for one particular item. Moreaux pursed his lips and took another drink from the bottle. “It appears we have a guest in our home. What do you say; shall we go and find out exactly where he is?” 

 

The corpse, of course, made no reply. Dead men were dreadfully boring that way, nothing more than broken toys, really. Phillipe promised himself that he would make his next plaything last longer. After all, this one was special.

 

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inhaling through both his mouth and nose, tasting the air on his tongue. The symphony of death and decay had a new note-- the distinctive stench of something alive. He could have followed that scent to its source, but then the anticipation would be over too soon. He forced himself to move in a methodical sweep, opening and closing each door he encountered, imagining his guest trembling with each loud bang.

 

At the top of the stairs, he stopped, his nose wrinkling with a new discovery. Something was missing. He flung open the washroom door and growled at the gleaming, white porcelain and the sterile tub. The air reeked of emptiness, a blank canvas where there was once a work of art. Suddenly tired of this phase of the game, he strode toward the bedroom.

 

Quickly, Phillipe reached for his wand with his right hand as the bottle of liquor remained clutched in his left. He placed the edge of his boot against the bottom edge of the door and pushed with all of his strength. The door crashed into the wall causing the top hinge to snap.

 

Leaning on the doorjamb, Phillipe took another drink from the bottle as he surveyed the room. The bitter liquid dulled his rage, and when his eyes came to rest on the room’s occupant, he had regained most of this enthusiasm. In truth, the man was something of a disappointment, average in height and in build. He wore Muggle clothing under a long duster, and the brim of a canvas hat flopped down over his eyes. In his hands, he cradled the wallet.

 

“Here you are. All nice and comfortable, I see,” Phillipe commented as he entered the room. 

 

The man on the bed made some tiny, pitiful sound in his throat. It was probably meant to be a string of words, but his cursed lips refused to move and so it came out as a moan like that of a wounded animal.

 

“And you found your gift!” Phillipe pocketed his wand, set the bottle down on the floor, and took the wallet in his own hands, thumbing the large, clumsy stitches that held it together. “Lucius told me to expect you, and so I prepared this little surprise.” He opened the wallet and withdrew a still photograph, which he held next to the man’s face. The photo showed a man, a woman, and a small boy in a stiff, unnatural pose. To improve his view, Phillipe flicked the floppy hat with his index finger, knocking it back and exposing the man’s face. The boy in the photograph had soft cheeks and a round, little mouth. The man, on the other hand, had sharp, fox-like features. Only the hazel eyes were the same.

 

“Jamie? Jam-ieeeee!” Phillipe called in a high-pitched tone. “Jamie, run!” He turned the picture and held it up in front of the man’s eyes. Pointing to the woman in the picture, he said, “Maybe you should have listened to her.”

 

The man grunted as loudly as the curse would allow. Tiny spasms wracked his face, making his nose twitch like a rabbit’s.

 

After letting the wallet fall to the floor, Phillipe reached for a toppled chair, which he placed next to the bed. Sitting down in the chair placed him almost knee to knee with his visitor. Gently, he placed his index finger on the man’s lips. “Shhh. Don’t waste your breath trying to speak. That’s a body-bind curse, with a touch of something special that I added in, just for you, James. Or, is it Janus now? Did you think a name would be enough to hide you from me? I can smell my own kind, especially one of my progeny.”

 

Janus howled through clenched teeth, and the muscles of his neck bulged as if he were trying to shake his head in denial.

 

Phillipe leaned the chair back on two legs and watched as Janus struggled against the powerful curse. “Save your strength, or at least what strength you have left. The more you struggle against it, the more weakened you become until all of your muscles collapse, including your heart. The longest that anyone has survived in this curse is eight hours. After that,” he grinned showing his rotted teeth, “all bets are off, mate.”

 

Tilting his head to one side, Phillipe studied Janus, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the tic in his left cheek. He leaned forward and placed his ear next to Janus’ chest, listening to the shallow, raspy breaths. The man’s heartbeat was beginning to weaken, and its rhythm was no longer perfect. “Been here a while, haven’t you? But, you’re fighting it. That’s good! It wouldn’t do to have you break before I even have a chance to play with you.”

 

Phillipe growled in frustration as he stood up from the chair and began to rummage through the house, leaving his victim alone in the bedroom. He had planned to leave the curse in place as he took his time with Janus, but that would be too risky now. In his current state, the man might expire at the first sign of real pain, leaving Phillipe with yet another boring corpse and no way to amuse himself. He would have to release the spell, and that meant finding another way to hold Janus in place.

 

In one of the kitchen drawers, he found what he needed. Holding the roll of silver tape up like a prize, he took the stairs two at a time and returned to the bedroom. The spell had made Janus’ limbs stiff, like those of a poorly made doll, and taping the man’s wrists together proved a challenge. Once Janus’ hands were bound securely behind his back, Phillipe moved on to the ankles and knees. Unlike rope, the shiny tape left no knots for the victim to pry. For a Muggle invention, it seemed almost magical. Pleased with his own handiwork, Phillipe murmured the incantation to release the spell.

 

“You can scream, but no one will hear you,” Phillipe said, sitting back down in the chair and picking up Janus’ wand and the wallet from the floor. 

 

“I’m…not…going t-to scream,” Janus replied, pulling in deep, loud breaths. 

 

Phillipe pocketed the wallet and the wand and reached for the bottle he had left on the floor. He took a long drink, before resting the bottle on his leg. “It’s funny,” Phillipe started, wiping away the last drops of the liquor from his lips with the back of his dirty hand. “Outside these walls, there is life happening all around us. There are couples kissing one another good-bye for the day. Little children are off with their friends, playing in the fields, all of them oblivious to the fact that death is always tugging at their sleeves.” Phillipe stopped speaking as he looked into Janus’ eyes, seeing the same spark of fury he had noted the night they first met. “This is exactly the situation that you find yourself in at this moment. Death is tugging at your sleeve. Isn't that right, little Jamie?"

 

Moreaux scratched the side of his face with the chipped edge of his brown-stained fingernail. “Interesting, is it not?” Phillipe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I was always curious what happened to you,” he growled as his eyelids slowly opened. “Thought that maybe you might’ve gone to work for the Ministry, or perhaps even You-Know-Who?”

 

“The Ministry? No, I never cared much for how they ran things,” Janus flatly replied. “As for Voldemort, I’m smart enough not to join a losing cause, unlike you.”

 

A loud crash echoed in the room as Moreaux swung the near-empty liquor bottle against the side of Janus’ head, causing him to fall over onto the mattress. Blood gushed from the fresh wound as Moreaux pounced upon the helpless man, tasted the blood, and backed away, knocking over his chair. Janus sat back up, shaking the dripping blood out of his vision. A thick, red curtain oozed over his face, dribbling over his mouth and down his chin.

 

Moreaux’s tongue flicked out, wiping away a few drops of Janus’ blood from his lips. “You tasted different then, like snips and snails and puppy dog tails.” He sighed in exaggerated satisfaction. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you? You want your revenge?”

 

“And I’ll have it!” Janus shook more blood out of his eyes. “Not just for my parents, but for all the other innocents you’ve killed.” 

 

“Futile, but noble. Not many men would dare to seek me out. It takes a lot of guts to come after a man like myself.”

 

“You’re no man!” Janus shouted, lurching forward. 

 

A slow smile spread across Moreaux’s lips. “Right now, I am. Which is something you should be thankful for; otherwise you’d already be dead.”

 

Janus spat blood onto the floor and on Moreaux’s boots. “You should have killed me when you first had the chance!” 

 

“Perhaps, but fate, it seems, has given me another chance. And this time I won’t be merciful,” Moreaux growled. “Didn’t you wonder why you got in here so easily? Why I left the wallet for you to find?"

 

Janus closed his eyes. “Lucius…stupid…stupid,” he whispered as he tilted his head back so that his eyes would face the ceiling.

 

“Stupid? I don’t think so. Over-zealous and a bit cocky? Definitely. But then again, you do have the best of me flowing within your blood.” 

 

“Piss on you!” Janus shouted at the ceiling. He brought his head down and continued, “I’m nothing like you. You’re nothing but a murderer, someone who deserves to lay with the worms and let the maggots feed off his rotting corpse!” 

 

Moreaux stood up and kicked Janus in the sternum with the heel of his boot. The force knocked him back onto the mattress, and Phillipe rammed the point of his boot between Janus’ ribs. Janus wheezed and began to cough, his arms straining at his bonds. “That is for your bloody cheek!” Janus labored to breathe as he struggled to right himself on the bed once more. 

 

“I did you a bloody favor,” Moreaux growled grabbing and squeezing Janus’ jaw with his strong hand. “I made you what you are today.” He released his grip and stood back.

 

“You took away everything that I cherished about my life, and turned it all into a living hell!” Janus screamed. 

 

“But you are so wrong!” Moreaux shouted, raising his finger in Janus’ face. “I gave you a great gift, an opportunity at a new life, because I sensed something about you that night. That’s why I didn’t kill you then. I longed for a companion, someone that I could pass my dark gift to and watch as he followed in my footsteps! You were that one.” Phillipe bent and brushed a blood-soaked lock of hair from Janus’ face, reeling from the sense of loss that came from contemplating what might have been. “We would have shared the joy of the change and the sweetness of the kill together if Dumbledore hadn’t gotten to you before I could. Once you were inside Hogwarts, I knew there would be no chance. He ruined you, made you useless to me!”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Moreaux. If you’d come for me, I would have killed you. You’re insane!”

 

“The difference between insanity and genius is measured by success.”

 

“Yeah, so successful that you got yourself captured and locked away in Nurmengard,” Janus chuckled. A forceful blow to his face knocked him back as Phillipe recoiled and struck again with his fist, connecting first with his jaw and then with his torso. Both blows sent deep jolts of pain through his fist and forearm, and both made the loud, satisfying crunch of fracturing bone.

 

“And tell me, just how insane have you gone?" Phillipe asked, sitting back down and flexing his fingers. "Every man is a finger’s breadth from being mad. Tell me that you haven’t felt the true calling of the beast that roars inside you?” 

 

“Go to hell!” Janus mumbled. Phillipe reached into his pocket, bringing out his wand and pointed it at Janus. “Go ahead! Kill me and get it over with,” Janus whispered as more blood splattered from his lips. “Kill me like the coward you are.”

 

“The art of life is having fun within the chase. And you, my friend, are going to be my bloody masterpiece!” He tossed the wand on the floor and began fishing in his pocket for something small, cold, and smooth. “Wands, they are for peasants; wizards that don’t know the thrill of the kill. It’s like a Muggle gun. The machine does all of the work, while you stand back and watch. I suppose that’s why I’ve never completely understood all of these elaborate tortures by a wand. It is the simplest thing to cause more pain than a man can possibly endure. And of course, it is not only the immediate agony, but the knowledge that if you do not yield soon enough, there will be little left to identify you as a man.”

 

“Keep on with your--" Janus began.

 

Phillipe struck, interrupting the man’s empty words. The hidden dagger penetrated Janus’ shirt and skin, leaving a trail of destruction across the man’s chest and down below his abdomen. Blood instantly began to ooze from the narrow wound. With his free hand, Phillipe ripped open the remainder of the shirt, displaying Janus’ bare torso like a canvas graced with the first stroke of the artist’s brush.

 

“That is a small sample,” Moreaux barked as the dagger slid out of sight. He set the chair next to the bed, settling himself into it. 

 

Janus shrugged, his shoulders straining against the tape binding his hands behind his back. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you’re too scared to fight me like a man?”

 

The dagger was back in Phillipe’s palm before Janus could breathe another word. Moreaux growled as blood flowed over his fingers when the knife penetrated Janus’ chest. “An inch deeper and it would have been your heart.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Cautiously, Harry eased open the door to Grimmauld Place. The air inside had the familiar smell of dust and old things mixed with the nauseating odor of rotting flesh. Behind him, Ron groaned, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Hermione raise her arm so that the sleeve of her robe covered her nose. He had stopped at the Burrow to reassure his friends that he had survived the attack in the atrium, and upon hearing that he planned to bury Kreacher, Hermione had insisted that she and Ron come along. 

 

The house was silent, without even the hum of electric appliances that had pervaded Janus' house. Harry felt his shoulders relax slightly. A part of him had worried that someone would be here waiting for him, as Lucius had waited before. Once inside, he walked quickly to the library, steeling himself against the smell, which grew more pungent with every step. 

 

Books lay scattered across the library floor, some of them soaked in spilled firewhiskey from the bottle Lucius had stolen. Kreacher slumped against the wall, his eyes sunken back into his head, a snarl fixed on his face, which had bloated with decomposition. Still holding her sleeve over the lower half of her face, Hermione waved her wand and made the books leap from the floor and back onto the shelf. 

 

She looked from Kreacher to Harry. “Do you have something to wrap him in?” 

 

Harry nodded and summoned a moth-eaten blanket, which he draped over the small body. He felt a wave of relief; not having to look at Kreacher's remains made this easier. An inner voice reminded him that this wasn't supposed to be easy. Ignoring the smell, he bent to pick up the body, wrapping it in the blanket as he did so. The house elf was light, but the corpse had stiffened in its strange position, and lifting it was awkward, like moving a chair. 

 

“Did-- did you have someplace in mind?” Hermione asked. “You know, to bury him?” 

 

Harry nodded. “In the woods, near Janus' house.” He struggled to shift Kreacher's weight so that he could balance it with one hand while retrieving his wand with the other. 

 

“Here. Let me.” Ron gently took the bundle from Harry's arms, freeing Harry to apparate. 

 

A moment later, the three of them stood among familiar trees on the narrow road where Draco had taken his first car ride. Harry started down the road, taking long steps that made Ron pant as he kept up, still carrying the body. Soon, the house came into sight, and Harry lengthened his strides. The Mini Cooper was gone from the driveway, much to Harry's disappointment. Even so, he decided to knock on the door on the off chance that someone was in the house. He hadn't seen Janus since that night at the Burrow, when Janus had left with a rubber duck in his pocket and cryptic words on lips. 

 

Before he reached the door, he heard a yelp of surprise from Hermione and sounds of distress from Ron. He turned to see his friends looking as if they were stuck behind a glass wall. Hermione rubbed her nose with her left hand while raising her right palm to touch the invisible surface as Ron probed the shield with his foot. 

 

“Sorry,” Harry told them. “I forgot about the wards. Just hang on. Janus can let you in.” He jogged the remaining distance to the house, bounded up the steps and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, he knocked, waited a moment, and knocked again. 

 

“Looks like we're on our own,” Ron called, still holding the body in his arms and still trapped behind Janus' protective spell. 

 

Harry returned to the spot where Ron and Hermione stood. After a wistful glance back at the house, he led his friends through the trees until they found a clearing with soft, mossy soil. The sun blazed over head, warming the earth and enhancing the smell of rich soil and greenery. “It's a good spot,” he said. 

 

Hermione conjured three shovels and then handed one to Ron and one to Harry. With the three of them working steadily, it took no more than half an hour to make a hole big enough for the house elf. Harry eased the small body into the hole and then leaned on his shovel, resting. 

 

Ron clapped Harry on the back. “He was a good, er, he was--” 

 

“He saved my life,” Harry said simply. 

 

Hermione nodded approval and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “He did the best he could, given his circumstances. If he had had time, he could have been your friend.” 

 

Harry exchanged a silent glance with Ron and both shook their heads slightly. It was too hard to imagine Kreacher being any wizard's friend. 

 

Wand pointed at the newly-shoveled earth, Hermione spoke a short incantation. Tiny threads of green popped up from the loose earth, growing into leafy chutes that soon sprouted buds. The buds opened to reveal velvety purple petals, and soon Kreacher's grave was carpeted in a thick mat of violets. 

 

\------------------------------------------------------

 

Janus tilted his head back, and inhaled through flared nostrils. Fresh blood flowed from the new wound, and Janus’ lips compressed into a tight line. "I know all about you, Moreaux," Janus started, tilting his head back down, and forcing his eyes to meet Phillipe’s. "And so does the Ministry, along with the WTF. Even if you kill me, you can't possibly defeat everyone that will be sent after you. Eventually, they will hunt you down.”

 

"I think the Ministry, as well as your precious WTF, have bigger problems to worry about right now," Moreaux smirked. "However, you still fail to see everything."

 

"I've seen enough from you to know--" Janus began, but cringed in pain as Phillipe's blade sliced upward from his abdomen to his shoulder.

 

"Silence!" Moreaux shouted as he pounded the butt of the dagger against Janus' forehead, causing more blood to trickle back into the duster. Unable to resist another taste, Phillipe ran his thumb along the shallow cut and then brought it to his lips. “I taste myself in you. My gift runs deep in your veins.”

 

“You gave me nothing! You stole my humanity.” Janus’ mouth twitched, and his neck muscles bulged as he jerked his head up and spat in Phillipe’s face.

 

Moreaux growled, reaching for his wand. "Crucio!"

 

The curse seared through Janus body, making it stiffen and convulse, arms and legs straining against their bonds. The glow of the spell illuminated the room more brightly than the sun shining through a full-frame window on a cloudless day. 

 

Phillipe continued to growl and grind his teeth as he held Janus with the curse. He watched the man’s face go red, then white as pretty little beads of sweat bejeweled his brow. Finally, he released the curse and let Janus’ limp torso fall onto the mattress. 

 

“Enough of this.” Phillipe waved a hand as if brushing away an insect. “We have better things to do.” He got down on his hands and knees and reached under the bed, searching for the tools he had left there. For a second, he feared Janus had disturbed them, but a moment later, his hand found the soft terry cloth of the towel, and he slid it out into full view.

 

He scooped the towel and its contents into his hands and stood up, looming over his prisoner. “Until this morning, you know, I had no idea what I was going to do with you. I even entertained the idea of giving you a quick death, but then I saw what you did to my masterpiece in the upstairs bathroom!”

 

“I gave that poor woman some dignity!” Janus rasped as more blood flowed from his wounds.

 

“Well, it came with a price!” Phillipe snapped. “Now you’re going to be my next masterpiece.” He unfolded the towel, revealing a series of five silver, claw-shaped hooks. Each of them had a handle made out of bone, with two of the instruments having a triple hook, like an eagle’s talon. Each hook was in fact a curved blade, sharp enough to make insertion easy and serrated in order to make extraction exquisitely difficult--for the subject.

 

“What in God’s name?” Janus gasped.

 

“God? He can’t help you now,” Phillipe growled. “This small beauty is my creation. I had it made by a craftsman who has a special talent. And now you will have the honor of being its first victim.” His finger slowed along each serrated edge and lightly dabbed at each razor-sharp point. “Long ago, there were ancient cultures that tested the honor and strength of their warriors. They would insert devices similar to what you see here into their warriors’ bodies, probing certain energy areas, such as the heart, the brain, and even the genitals, for life source and strength.”

 

“Now, this will only hurt for a bit,” Phillipe softly spoke as he extracted the shortest probe, and slowly inserted the tip of the curved barb into Janus’ naval. Deep, red blood began to flow from the wound as the teeth of the device sliced through skin while Phillipe lightly pulled upward. Seconds later, he gradually extracted the hooked blade, and stood up over Janus’ prone body.

 

“Is that all you got?” Janus panted, his chest heaving as he recovered from the pain. His arms and legs continued to thrash against the bonds so that he reminded Phillipe of a fish flopping on dry land. “You’re pathetic! What’s the matter with you, anyway? Not enough hugs from Daddy? Or did he love you a little too much? Huh?”

 

“Wrong on both,” Phillipe said dryly. Reaching for the next probe, this one several inches longer than the first, Phillipe positioned the point above Janus’ collarbone. Bored with quick stabs and slashes, he casually pressed, watching the tip of the blade edge deeper into the flesh with sweet, maddening slowness. “The truth is, I always knew that there was something different about me. I had a twin brother. Fraternal, unfortunately, and dreadfully common. He couldn’t do the things I could, but Father liked him best. They would call me an aberration, a monster, and say that I didn't deserve to live because I could do things that normal people could not.”

 

The tip of the hook had found its way under Janus’ collarbone, where it struck a sensory nerve, and then grated against a rib. 

 

“Cry me a river, you bastard! Is that your big sob story?” Janus’ eyes rolled into the back of his head. The sweat that poured in a steady stream from his brow belied his bravado. His body shuddered, trying to get away from the hooked-knife, but instead helping it to slide past the rib and deeper into his chest.

 

“When I was eight,” Phillipe continued, “my brother was diagnosed with cancer. He died several months later from it, and my mother slit her wrists shortly afterwards. Of course, my father said that I had destroyed both of them with a magical spell, and he banished me to my room, with only my books for company. For seven years after that I endured his abuse, until one night I slipped into his bedroom and sliced his throat with a knife, just like this one." 

 

With his left hand still holding the hooked dagger in Janus’ chest, Phillipe took his hidden knife in his right hand, held it close to his own throat, and traced it lightly across his skin from ear to ear. “I stood there, watching death come and take my father away. I enjoyed seeing his eyes frantic and pleading for help while he choked and gasped his last breath.”

 

"You're sick!" Janus spat.

 

Phillipe sighed, and shrugged his shoulders, then began to twist the knife so that its teeth scraped against Janus’ rib. A sense of nostalgia had overtaken him, and he continued his story. "I left my parents house and wandered from village to village killing small animals and stealing food when I could. I became adapted to sleeping in the woods, and I began to enjoy myself. However, it was then, at my zenith, that fate showed me what it had in store.

 

“It was late in the summer, and the full moon allowed me to see the farmer's sheep. I was hungry, you see. A young man can only last so long on rabbits, squirrels, and wild berries. From behind, I heard a low growl and turned to see two yellow eyes staring at me from the brush. I raised my knife but the animal leapt onto me, biting for my throat like a mad dog. Stabbing and trying to scream, I fought until I heard a gunshot. The farmer, mistaking me for one of his sheep, had fired from his window. The bullet grazed the animal, and it ran back into the woods.”

 

“Too bad it didn’t hit you,” Janus murmured. His face was ashen now, his voice a barely audible rasp. 

 

“Too bad for you,” Phillie agreed. Holding the dagger still, he continued, "Wounded, but still with enough fight to find the creature that had attacked me, I followed the blood trail with every intention of killing the animal that had just bitten me. I walked for what seemed like miles through the forest before I finally came to it."

 

A slow smile spread across Phillipe's face. "To my surprise it was not a wolf or a large, vicious dog that stood before me, but a man. He had tended to his wound and had tied a make-shift bandage around it to stop the flow of blood. I fell to the ground, my own wound having sapped my strength. Strong hands lifted me up, and two dark eyes gazed into mine. He spoke, and explained to me about what would soon begin to happen to me. The man became my maker, my master, and my true father. His name was Fenrir Greyback. He was the one who gave me my dark gift, just like I gave you."

 

Phillipe pulled the device out and longingly gazed at the blood that dripped from the gleaming silver down onto his fingers. Reaching across Janus’ torso, he gave the instrument a short, playful thrust, just below the ribcage. He then began to twirl the bone handle between his thumb and index finger as a bored clerk might do with a pen. The tip bored into in Janus’ tissue like an auger, slowly, ever so slowly. A crimson and black mixture seeped through the wound as Phillipe paused to observe. He tisked, calmly shaking his head side to side and wagging his index finger in front of Janus’ eyes. “That’s not the best of signs.

 

“All of this brings me to the night that has bonded us together. I was ravenous with the animal inside me, close to the change. The moon would be full the next night. I could smell you and your family. It drove me crazy, so that I attacked and killed your parents without mercy, not even savoring what I had done. Then I saw you, and my natural killing machine took over, except for when I tasted your blood, I knew that you were different. So I left you with a small chance of surviving, and a small share of my gift. Not the true gift, of course, since the change hadn’t come to me that night, but a part of it-- your strength, your heightened senses, your ability to endure pain." He tapped on the end of the dagger, sending vibrations down the blade. “And when the full moon comes, you become something more, yes?”

 

"The gift that you gave me will be your undoing, Moreaux!" Janus groaned through gritted teeth. 

 

"I think not.” With a final twist of the knife, Phillipe snapped his wrist forward, causing the curved point to pierce Janus’ lung, eliciting a wet, rattling gasp.

 

"Ah yes, you are beginning to feel it now," Phillipe whispered as he pulled the probe out, dropping it onto the floor. "Your strength is remarkable, so let's skip these others and go for the last one." He reached behind him, found the talon-shaped dagger and brought it forward, holding it in front of Janus’ eyes. "This special device is used for the heart, solely. Look closely, James, as this will be the instrument of your death. When you next see this curved hook, you will be able to feel your heart stop. 

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

The conjured shovels disappeared, leaving Harry rubbing his blistered, empty hands. Ron had been leaning on his shovel, and he stumbled, windmilling his arms until he regained his balance. 

 

Hermione stepped around the grave and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. “You know, you don't have to go back to Grimmauld Place. In fact, it's better if you don't. With Kreacher gone, you'd be completely alone, and if Phillipe Moreaux finds you...” 

 

“Then I'll be ready for him.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at Janus' house. “You saw for yourself how well Janus' wards work. I'm going to get him to help me protect Grimmauld Place the same way. We need a headquarters if we're going to beat Moreaux, someplace to meet and plan.” 

 

“I still say you're better off staying with us than being alone.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest. 

 

“I won't be spending much time alone,” Harry mumbled, warmth spreading through his cheeks as he remembered his last few moments with Draco. “I was invited to Malfoy Manor.” 

 

A broad grin spread across Hermione's face, and she leaned forward to give Harry a brief squeeze. “He came to his senses-- I knew it!” 

 

“Great. I'm happy for you.” Ron looked as if he were about to vomit a slug. 

 

“Thanks.” After a final glance at Kreacher's resting place, Harry turned back towards the house and motioned for his friends to follow him. “I'm going to check one more time to see if Janus is home.” 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

Janus knew that his life depended upon timing. The bastard’s monologue had bought him enough time to scratch through the tape with his fingernails, freeing his wrists. His hands readied as Moreaux closed in with the hellish instrument, anger seething from his doll-black eyes.

 

The points of the curved hooks began to penetrate his flesh, flooding his body with pain. Thousands of images flashed into his mind as the barbs dug deeper into his skin. Memories of his childhood, the faces of his mother and father, smells and sounds from his first visit to the ocean, the soothing touch of his mother's hands as she bathed him, the agony of staring at the stars and wondering if he was going to die and go to them, the beautiful faces of his past loves, the voice of Remus, and Harry. If he died now, he would break his promise to protect Harry. 

 

He screamed as he had never screamed before. His free hands flew to Moreaux's wrist, forcing the killing hooks away from his heart and out of his body. Then he twisted fiercely, snapping the bone and breaking it. He could see the butt of his wand protruding from Moreaux’s robe pocket. 

 

Janus lunged, missing the wand, and crashed to the floor on his stomach. He began to rise up, but a large, blunt force struck his shoulder from behind. The actions repeated until Janus could not muster the strength to pull himself up to his knees, let alone his feet.

 

He felt the floor shake with Phillipe's footsteps as the man planted his boot firmly on Janus’ shoulder, digging the heel and then the toe into his back, and then forcefully kicking Janus in his ribs and stomach, driving the air from his lungs, and further damaging Janus’ wounds.

 

Gasping, coughing, and spitting up large wads of blood from his mouth, Janus hurled himself to the side, willed himself up to his knees and gazed ahead at the snarling figure that stood before him. A small smirk toyed with Janus' lips as a single thought ran through his brain.

 

Pain. The bastard can feel pain. 

 

His knee brushed against something as he glanced down at one of the medieval probes that stained the floor with his blood. His fingers curled around the handle. Moreaux walked closer, clutching his broken wrist.

 

"For that, you will pay!” Phillipe lunged forward and swept Janus’ knees from under him with a kick. Still bound at the knees and ankles, Janus fell forward onto his belly, his face nearly touching Moreaux’s boot. 

 

Janus craned his neck up and watched as Phillipe's good hand pulled the dagger from inside his robe, once more revealing the two wands that were hidden. "Now, kiss my boot!" Moreaux shouted. Janus felt the tip of the boot touch his nose as the dagger touched the back of his neck. Phillipe took a step back. “Crawl to me like the worm that you are and kiss it!” 

 

Slowly, Janus inched forward, his hand bringing the razor-sharp probe up as his lips neared the toe of the blacked boot. He paused, his lips millimeters from touching the leather. 

 

"Kiss it!" Moreaux shouted.

 

Janus' gaze drifted to his right hand as it began to swing upward with dazzling speed and strength. 

 

Just hope this is enough.

 

Seconds later, he heard the loud, piercing thud and a scream from Moreaux. Simultaneously, he felt the pointed edge of Moreaux's dagger leave the back of his neck, as the man flailed backwards. Phillipe dropped the dagger, and his uninjured hand reached to pull the clawed hook out of his heart. This was the moment that Janus had needed. Reaching for the dagger that Phillipe had dropped, Janus ripped the tape away from his knees and ankles. Standing to his full height, Janus witnessed Moreaux clutching at his chest where the torturing device had dug deep into the area around his heart. Janus sliced at Moreaux’s robes, cutting away the hidden pocket and causing both wands to clatter to the floor. 

 

"Accio, wand!" he shouted, as Moreaux pulled the probe from his flesh and grabbed his own wand from the floor. 

 

Janus dove onto the bloody mattress for protection. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. His aim was inches off; the killing curse passing just to the side of Moreaux's face and then exploding into the wall behind him, causing chunks of board and plaster to fly across the room.

 

Janus gasped as he saw the green light begin to form at the tip of Moreaux’s wand. With a fast whip of his own wand, Janus disappeared as the killing curse reached him. Spinning away, Janus felt the icy coldness from the spell. Before darkness and the spinning sensation overtook him, Janus last thought was how beautiful the green light was.

 

\---------------------------------------

 

The three made their way through the trees, Harry listening for the sound of the Mini Cooper's engine but only hearing the vapid noises of the birds in the trees and his friends' heavy breathing as they kept pace with him. When they emerged from the woods, Hermione gasped and bolted forward at a dead run. Puzzled, Harry looked over his shoulder but saw nothing approaching from behind. When he looked toward the house again, he saw Hermione kneeling next to a dark, still lump on the ground. Moments later, he was kneeling beside her, watching in shock as she chanted Snape's healing spell. 

 

When she had finished, she turned to Harry. “Is this your friend?” 

 

Harry nodded, his mind recoiling from the sight in front of him. Janus was splayed face-down on the ground, his left arm outstretched, the hand still touching the butt of his wand, as if he had tried to cast a spell before losing consciousness. The back of his duster had a blackened patch where the fabric looked stiff and crumpled. Other parts of his clothing, as well as some of the ground around him, were soaked with blood. 

 

“Janus?” Harry ran a hand down Janus' cheek to the side of his neck, feeling dizzy with relief when he sensed a faint pulse. He drew his wand and pointed at the unconscious wizard. “Renervate!” 

 

Janus twitched and began to thrash ineffectually, trying to turn himself over onto his back. With one hand on Janus' shoulder and the other on his hip, Harry helped to turn him face up so that they could look each other in the eyes. When Harry saw Janus' face, he cringed. A thick layer of dried blood caked Janus' skin, and one side of his face was swollen beyond recognition. His shirt been cut open in the front. Blood matted his chest so thickly that Harry couldn't tell where all of the wounds were. Janus' breath came in short, pained gasps, and he winced with every inhalation. 

 

A small squeaking sound came from Hermione, along with a low whistle from Ron, who stood behind her. “We have to get you to Saint Mungos, now!” Hermione told Janus, reaching for her wand. 

 

“No!” Janus rasped. He seized Hermione's wrist in his blood-slicked right hand. “That's the first place he'll look for me. No hospitals.” His hand fell to the ground, and he strained to sit up, his face contorting with effort. A series of coughs shook his body as a fine spray of blood left his mouth. 

 

“You're still hurt,” Hermione protested. “We can't just leave you here.” 

 

“Let's get him inside,” Harry said, crouching beside Janus and holding his left hand. The fingers felt cold and limp. “He has healing potions in the cellar.” 

 

Hermione shook her head. “Ron and I are locked out, remember?” 

 

“I can let you in,” Janus said. He reached for his wand, which still lay on the ground, then drew back, hissing in pain. Before he could try again, Harry bent, retrieved the wand, and put it in his hand. Gritting his teeth, Janus murmured a low incantation. The invisible barrier surrounding the house shimmered for a moment, as if it were made of water, and the wand fell out of Janus' hand as his head sank back to the ground. 

 

Hermione stood, wiped her hand on he robes, and shook her head. “Harry, he needs a proper healer, I can't--”

 

“You can!” Harry stood, too, and looked her in the eyes. “What could they do at Saint Mungos that you can't do here?” 

 

Unable to answer, Hermione shrugged, pointed her wand, and said, “Locomotor Janus.” 

 

The injured man floated up from the ground, his duster trailing on the grass and leaving a bloody track as they approached the house. Once they reached the door, Harry fumbled in Janus' pockets until he found the keys to let them in. He then directed Hermione to Janus' bedroom and flipped the light switch on the way in. 

“What now?” Ron asked.

 

“Well...” Hermione hesitated, watching Janus float in the air, bobbing slightly as she wavered. “I suppose we have a look at the injuries. Help me get him undressed.” After pocketing her wand, she approached Janus and began to tug at the duster, removing one arm, then the other. The coat fell to the ground, revealing the staggering extent of the blood stains on Janus' jeans and the remains of his tee shirt. 

 

Ron and Harry each unlaced one of Janus' tennis shoes while Hermione worked on the rest of his clothing. When they had finished, Janus hovered above a pile of blood-soaked clothing wearing only a pair of briefs. 

 

“Tergeo.” Hermione said the spell, and the blood stains vanished from Janus' body, revealing flesh mottled with new bruises and marred by several angry wounds that Hermione's earlier healing spell had closed. Some of them were already beginning to split open, oozing fresh rivulets of red over the near-white skin. Blood pooled under the skin near his navel, ballooning up until the torn flesh burst. With her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, Hermione began to probe Janus' torso with her fingers, occasionally stopping to exclaim over something. When she had finished, she said to Harry, “He's going to need Bonegrow, dittany, wound-cleaning potion... Just bring me any healing potions he has.” 

 

“I'll show you the cellar,” Harry told Ron as he opened the closet door. They descended the wooden stairs into Janus' potions laboratory. 

 

“Smells like Snape's dungeon!” Ron commented, craning his neck to take in the sight of the bookshelves, the benchtop, the cauldron, and the cabinets that hopefully held the potions Hermione had requested. 

 

Harry flung open one of the cabinet doors to find several shelves filled with identical, unlabeled bottles. The next door revealed a more promising collection, including several vials of dittany, which Harry put in his pockets, and a large bottle of wound-cleaning potion, which he handed to Ron. Yet another door yielded more potions with promising names like “essence of feverfew” and “invigoration potion”. Soon, he and Ron had filled their pockets and were carefully climbing the stairs, balancing armloads of glass bottles. 

 

In the bedroom, Hermione had spun Janus so that he faced downward. As Harry and Ron unloaded their bottles onto the night table and desk, she ran her fingertips over an angry red mark that was just beginning to darken to a bruise. When Harry noted the shape of the mark, he set down his remaining bottles and moved closer for a better look. “Is that a boot print?” 

 

Hermione nodded and sighed. “Yes, and I think he has more cracked ribs under it. He's hurt badly, Harry. Are you sure--” 

 

“He said 'no hospitals'. Just turn him over and keep holding him up while I clean the wounds.” After Hermione spun Janus into position, Harry poured purple liquid onto the reopened wounds on Janus' torso. Some of the cuts looked like simple knife wounds, but others were wide and messy, making Harry's mind spin grotesque fantasies of Janus being impaled with stakes or torn with some cruel spell. 

 

“Do you really think he's going to make it?” Ron asked, watching the purple potion fizz on Janus' skin. 

 

“Yes!” Harry said at the same time Hermione said, “I don't know.” 

 

When Harry had finished with the wounds, Hermione lowered Janus onto the bed and used a spell to wake him up once more. Jaw twitching with the effort, Janus raised his head and seemed to relax when he noted the familiar surroundings. 

 

“Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?” Janus raised a trembling hand and pointed vaguely. 

 

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “That's us.” 

 

“I've heard all about you,” Janus rasped. 

 

“We've heard about you, too,” Hermione said impatiently, holding up the bottle of Bonegrow. “You need to drink this before the renervate spell wears off.” 

 

“Right.” Janus took the bottle from her and held it to his mouth while she steadied his hands with hers. When the bottle was empty, she reached for another potion from the end table, and then another. After emptying the third bottle, Janus let his head fall back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. 

 

“We'll need more of those,” Hermione said, pointing to the empty bottles. “We can buy them at Mulpepper's, but one of us should stay here with him in case...” 

 

“I'll stay,” Harry volunteered. “If Moreaux is able to break through the wards, I'll make him pay for this.” 

 

“I meant in case...” Hermione's eyes swept over Janus. “I meant he shouldn't be alone, that's all. We'll come back tomorrow with more supplies. In the mean time, we can see if Molly and Arthur know anything.” 

 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry said. As his friends left the house, he eased himself onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jolt it. From his robe pocket, he pulled the bottle of dittany that Janus had given him days ago. He began to spread it on the red, puckered patch of flesh under Janus' left collarbone. Doing this reminded him of how Janus' fingertips had felt on his own wounds. Janus' touch had been cool and light, delivering the soothing liquid with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with Draco's treatment of Harry that same night. 

 

When he had finished with the marks on Janus' chest and abdomen, Harry put a hand under Janus shoulder, lifting until the unconscious man rolled onto his side. The boot-print bruise had darkened to a sickly olive green, and Harry watched in fascination when the color receded from his dittany-laced fingers, as if he were erasing it from a page. Another patch of swollen, bruised flesh was just above the band of Janus' briefs. He had to pull the elastic down to expose the full injury, which made him suddenly aware of the strangeness of the situation. 

 

I'm not a saint, Harry. I'm not going to kiss you on the cheek and tell you I could never take advantage of you. If you had stayed tonight-- 

 

He tried not to think about Janus' words to him at the Burrow, or about how it had felt to sit next to him on the couch, sharing secrets. Thinking these thoughts felt like disloyalty to Draco, and he reminded himself that if it weren't for Janus' recklessness, Harry could be with Draco now, alone, in any of the many rooms of Malfoy Manor. That thought made his mind run in other distressing directions, comparing Janus' body to Draco's. Both were beautiful, but Janus looked more mature, with broader shoulders and arms that looked especially striking from the back. 

 

Better not to look, Harry thought, squeezing his eyes shut as he lightly ran his damp fingertips over the swollen area on Janus' back. Closing his eyes turned out to be a mistake, as it made him hyper-aware of the smoothness of the skin and the almost imperceptible presence of tiny, soft hairs. He opened his eyes and focused only on the injury, reminding himself that it was ugly. Wherever his fingers touched, though, they left a trail of flawless skin. 

 

When Harry finished spreading the salve, he turned Janus gently onto his back again and wrapped the bedspread so that it covered him. He considered leaving the room but couldn't bring himself to let Janus out of his sight, so instead, he propped pillows up on the other side of the bed for himself, took Janus' book from the night table, and settled in to read. After an indeterminate amount of time, the words on the page began to dance and blur. Letting the book fall to his chest, Harry took one of Janus' hands and brought it to his cheek, noting the returning warmth as well as the slight roughness of the callused skin. As he drifted to sleep, he felt that hand squeeze down on his and heard his own name from Janus' lips. He wondered if he was already dreaming.


	37. Better For Myself

Chapter 37: Better For Myself

 

 

The yellow duck bobbed up and down on the water, sending out tiny ripples. Several larger waves crashed into the duck, wetting the orange bill and briefly submerging it. The duck followed the course of the waves until it brushed against the side of the yellow bathtub, floating and waiting for the attention that would soon come its way.

 

Small fingers grasped the toy, pulling it back through the water, squeezing hard enough to elicit a squeak. The child forced the toy under the water, released it, and laughed, delighted as it sprang back to the surface and righted itself. Still laughing, he tossed the duck into the air. It splashed back into the water, head first with another soft squeak before rolling onto its side and coming to rest on top of the water once more.

 

“Ok, that’s enough playtime for you, young man,” the woman's voice came from above. “My goodness, just look at this mess you’ve made. Water's everywhere in here.”

 

“Waaver, waaver,” repeated the small child.

 

“Yes, waaver!” She replied cupping a large handful of water and tossing it above the child’s head, causing him to roar with laughter and flail his arms as the water cascaded over him.

 

The child looked up into the woman’s almond-shaped green eyes and smiled. He raised his finger and pointed at the yellow wall behind her. “Buvverflies, mommy!”

 

Smiling, she turned and gazed at the colorful butterflies that were painted on the bathroom wall. “Yes, I know,” she replied, looking back at the child. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

 

“Boovviful!” The boy said as he stood up in the tub, allowing his mother to wrap him in a large white towel. “I wove you, mommy!”

 

The woman dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the edge of the towel, before slowly pressing her lips to the child’s forehead, then touching her son’s nose with her own. “And I love you, Jamie.”

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

A lone seagull floated overhead in the warm breeze while the sound of the crashing sea and the smell of saltwater filled his senses. He gazed up at the gull and marveled at the animal as it hovered in place, seemingly by magic. Waves lapped at his feet, sometimes rising as high as his ankles before he darted away, shivering from the chill of the water. The girl's hand was warm in his, although her golden arms had gooseflesh from the wind. Every time he edged toward the dry sand, she pulled him back toward the wet, laughing. "It's too cold," he protested.

 

"I'll warm you up, then!" Her arms snaked around him, and now her hands were on his back. Her body was warm under the damp fabric of her swimsuit, and her hard nipples pressed against his chest.

 

"We shouldn't--"

 

He tried to finish his sentence but couldn't, not with her mouth on his. His mind raced, searching for the reason they should stop, and at the same time, his hands roamed, finding all of the places he had always wanted to touch. He could hear footsteps behind them, the wet slapping of bare feet on sand. Even then, he couldn't stop; it was as if some compulsion spell gripped him.

 

She stepped back, pushing his chest with her hands to break free of him, and he turned to see what had caught her attention. At the sight of the dark-haired boy, he stepped back, putting the girl between them so that her body hid the evidence of his excitement. The boy would be jealous. She belonged to him; they had grown up together. For sixteen years it had been the two of them.

 

"We were just--" he began, but the boy cut him off.

 

"I know." The boy made a rude gesture with his left hand and the index finger of his right.

 

Giggling, the girl stepped behind him and pushed him toward the boy. He expected to be hit or tossed into the cold ocean, but instead he was enveloped by their two warm bodies. A set of lips fluttered on the back of his neck while another mouth covered his with a hard kiss. The girl’s hands were on his, guiding them until he felt something hard and hot beneath the fabric of the boy’s trunks. The waves were up to his knees now, and he didn’t care, any more than he cared about the ocean spray misting his face and body.

 

"Anna, Gabriel…"

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

Harry gasped for breath as he awoke; his eyes scanned the surroundings while the memories of the dream faded away. A small cry came from his right.

 

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry if I woke you up, but you startled me,” Hermione said as she balanced a bowl in her hand and lightly dabbed Janus’s forehead with a white cloth. “I tried not to get any water on you, but I’m afraid I may have accidentally splashed a few drops on your face while you were sleeping.”

 

Without thinking, Harry wiped at the small drops of water that were sliding down his cheek. “That’s alright, Hermione. How long have I been asleep?” he asked, releasing Janus’ grip from his right hand and straightening his crooked glasses.

 

“All night, I suppose,” she answered, casting a weary glance at him, before continuing her work. “Ron and I arrived early this morning, and I made a potion that Molly said might help, but…" Hermione’s words trailed off. “Harry?”

 

“Sorry, Hermione.” Harry flashed a quick smile at her. “Just thinking about what I was dreaming.”

 

“Good dreams?” She asked, wetting the cloth again. The water in the bowl splashed against the sides like a toddler's bath water, like ocean waves.

 

Harry flushed. "Yeah. You could say that, but…"

 

"But what?" she prompted.

 

He glanced at Janus' face. The man's eyes moved behind their lids, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "I don't think they were my dreams."

 

Hermione set the bowl and cloth down on the bedside table. She bit her bottom lip before asking, “Harry, this wasn’t like before, was it? Like the dreams that you had with Voldemort?”

 

A soft knock came from the bedroom door as Ron entered the room. “Morning Harry. Morning, ‘Mione. I thought we all could use a cup of tea this morning, so I’ve got a kettle going in the kitchen. It won’t be Mum’s tea, but, well, I just thought it would help.”

 

Hermione walked over and kissed him on the cheek, causing his face to match the color of his ginger hair.

 

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said as he stretched and massaged the back of his own neck. “How is he, Hermione?”

 

She winced. “He doesn’t look good, Harry. His face is burning up and the wounds…” She pulled the sheet down to Janus’ navel, baring an expanse of angry red. The skin near his collar bones looked puffy, as if something were inside and trying to push its way out. The smell wafting from the injury reminded Harry of Kreacher’s corpse. “Some of the wounds are septic,” Hermione finished. “We should check the rest.” She began to pull the sheet further down.

 

“’Mione, please! I don’t need to see his…his...well, you know, his stuff!” Ron exclaimed.

 

“Ronald Billius!” She rounded, letting the sheet fall down. “He’s not naked!”

 

“Yeah, but…you know!” Ron stumbled.

 

“I know what, Ronald?” Hermione asked, slowly placing her hands upon her hips.

 

“Nothing…nothing, ‘Mione. I think I’ll go and check on the tea, yeah?” Ron said, backing away from Hermione.

 

“Yes, Ron, I think you should.” Hermione watched as he walked to the door while Harry tried to hide his smirk. “What?" Hermione asked as she spotted Harry’s face after Ron had closed the door.

 

“You two are perfect for one another,” Harry replied shaking his head.

 

Hermione huffed as she placed her hand on Janus’ forehead. “I swear sometimes Ron’s emotional range isn’t the only thing that's the size of a teaspoon. Some days it’s his brain!”

 

“Come on, Hermione, that’s cold!” Harry said. “And besides, you two love each other.”

 

“Which gives me every right to say that about him. Sometimes everything is a big joke to him. As if I would honestly be fascinated by seeing Janus naked. I'm doing what I have to do to try and help mend him.” She bit her lower lip again, lowered the sheet, and took a bottle of dittany from the night table. With slow, careful motions, she began spreading the liquid on Janus' inflamed flesh. “Now, you were saying about this dream?”

 

“Oh, right,” Harry muttered, coming out of his daze of watching Hermione work. “No, it wasn’t like anything before. I think they were Janus' dreams.”

 

“Janus?” Hermione asked. “But how? And why?"

 

“Tea’s here!” Ron’s voice came from the door before Harry could answer. Ron pushed the door open with his foot and walked into the bedroom holding a wooden tray. “I brought milk, cream, spoons, sugar--"

 

“Not now, Ron!” Hermione hissed. “Harry was just about to tell me about his dream.”

 

“Oh!” Ron exclaimed as his face beamed. He set the tray down on the dresser. “This should be wicked fun then, knowing what Harry’s dreams were always like before. Was it You-Know-Who again?”

 

“No, it wasn’t, Ronald!” Hermione shouted slapping the wet cloth across Ron’s arm and chest. “Not another word, alright?”

 

“Well, as I told Hermione, I think it was Janus’ dream,” Harry began. “When I fell asleep, I was holding his hand.”

 

“Better not let Malfoy hear you saying this, Harry, or he’ll blow his lid. You know he’s the jealous type,” Ron said as he sat down next to Hermione. “Oww! ‘Mione stop hitting me with that wet towel! It stings!”

 

“Honestly, Ron? The jealous type? As if you’re not describing yourself. Just a minute ago you were jealous of me lifting the sheet up and seeing another man’s pants. Now, will you hush and let Harry finish?”

 

Harry pretended to scratch his nose in an effort to hide the smile on his face. “Right…well, in the dream I saw a woman and a boy in a bathtub.”

 

“I was right, mate! You’d better not let Malfoy hear you talk about your naked dreams of boys in tubs!”

 

“Oh!” Hermione said, rolling her eyes and shoving Ron out of his chair. “Honestly, Ronald Weasley, today your brain is no smarter than a rock!”

 

Ron smiled as he got up and sat in the chair. “Yeah, but you still love it!” He quickly kissed her on the cheek. "Don't you?" He cleared his throat and motioned for Harry to continue.

 

“Well, the woman wasn’t naked, Ron, but I think what I dreamed was Janus as a small child. And the woman in the dream was his mum. It was peaceful, and filled with happiness. It’s the kind of moment that I wish I could have shared with my mum.”

 

“Why do you think--" Hermione began.

 

“I don’t know why, Hermione.” Harry raised his hand up and stopped her question. Silence filled the room as a single bird began to sing outside the bedroom window.

 

“Harry?” Hermione cautiously asked after a long, quiet moment had passed. “Is there something else?”

 

Harry stirred from his thoughts. “Yes.” He stretched his neck, popping the muscles before he began. “There was another dream. I saw a beach, and the ocean.”

 

“This sounds promising!” Ron interrupted. Hermione backhanded him across his chest to silence him.

 

“I was with—he was with—a girl and a boy. They were—’’ Harry shook his head, flustered. The tips of his ears were burning as he remembered the dream. It had been more vivid than a dream should ever be. Harry could still feel the softness of Anna’s body and the hardness of Gabriel's, and he could still smell the sea air and taste the spray of salt on Gabriel’s lips.

 

“They were what, Harry?” Hermione whispered.

 

“I think it was the first time Janus was with both of them. They were…" he fumbled for a word before settling on "lovers". That made Ron snicker, and Hermione's nose wrinkled for a moment before she forced her face to neutrality.

 

“Oh." Hermione said softly, glancing down at Janus and then up at Harry.

 

“Wow! That was pretty wild then, eh?” Ron asked. "I mean how the three of them could…I mean two of them would have to have been…And you were watching while they…" he stopped before finishing his statement. Ron's ears burned as he blushed.

 

“No,” Harry answered, still gazing into space. “It wasn't as if I were there watching. I was feeing it, experiencing it, through his eyes, and he was happy. It was a good memory. But, why would he want to show me this?”

 

Several more seconds of silence passed between them. “I got it!” Ron shouted, bringing his gaze up from the floor.

 

“Ron, please not another joke. This isn’t the time or place,” Hermione pleaded.

 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that, ‘Mione!” Ron stood up and paced back and forth across the room, his face brightly burning with the answer. “Don’t you see? It’s a connection. A link!”

 

“Of course, you're right, Ron! I think it would be best if Harry just--’’

 

“Just what, Hermione? Block it out with Occlumency? This isn’t You-Know-Who that we’re talking about here. Mum always said you had to take the good dreams with the bad ones. Maybe this is Janus’ way of sharing things with Harry, just in case he doesn’t make it. I mean he isn’t exactly able to draw a memory from his brain right now, is he?”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry snapped. “Of course Janus is going to make it!” He looked to Hermione, hoping to hear her agree with him. When she remained silent, he prompted, “Well?”

 

“I—I don’t know.” She shook her head and gestured to the swollen chest wounds. “I think the wounds may have been contaminated when I closed them. We should have taken him to Saint Mungos! It may be too late now.”

 

“Then you think the dreams are what? His legacy?” Harry asked.

 

“Perhaps.” Hermione shrugged. “Ron, I’m sorry. You may be right.”

 

Harry stood up, turning over his chair, and Hermione pulled back the sheet. “You see some of his wounds; the more severe ones appear to be infected," she said as Harry looked over her shoulder. “I thought that I had treated them properly.”

 

Harry’s stomach lurched from the smell of the infection, and his head reeled as he tried to grasp the idea that Janus may be dying. I thought I was through with loss. “Please Hermione; you have to do something for him.”

 

“I’ve done all that I know how to. This is beyond my limits, but I have an idea of who can help.”

 

“Who?” Harry and Ron asked together.

 

“No time to explain right now. I have to go to Diagon Alley and gather more supplies,” Hermione said as she whisked herself up and over to the door. “The two of you keep dabbing his wounds with the dittany. That will help for the time being. If he begins to wake up, make sure he has water to drink, along with that potion.” She pointed to a small glass that sat upon the bedside table.

 

Ron sniffed the glass. “Ugh, ‘Mione what is this stuff?”

 

“Something that will help him…I hope. And Ron, I'm sorry for what I said earlier about you. You are the smartest rock I know, sometimes even smarter than me."

 

\---------------------------------------

 

 

“How much longer will she be gone?” Harry asked as he looked from Janus, to Ron, and then out the bedroom window. He paced around the bed, his arms folded across his chest, while his ears were alert to the tiniest sound that came from Janus.

 

Since Hermione’s departure, he and Ron had alternated tending to Janus’ wounds and keeping a close watch out the window for Hermione. “I dunno. How long has she been gone now?” Ron asked while he dabbed Janus’ forehead with the cloth.

 

“Too long,” Harry replied.

 

Ron lightly touched Janus' brow with the back of his hand. “Harry! He feels warmer!”

 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing, Ron.” Harry turned and pressed his forehead to the window.

 

“Remus,” Janus rasped.

 

“Harry, I think he’s trying to come around!”

 

“Get the potion ready,” Harry replied as he moved from the window to the bed in two long strides. “Janus?”

 

Janus made an attempt to swallow, as a ragged breath escaped his dry lips. “Remus, I don't want to go! I can stay here. I'm not scared, I'm not…”

 

“He’s going on about Lupin again,” Ron said as he held the glass that contained the potion over Janus.

 

“Yeah, it’s probably the fever that’s causing him to talk about him. I’ll hold his head up while you gently pour some of that over his lips.” Harry cupped the back of Janus’ head and slowly lifted. “Easy, easy Ron! Try not to spill too much of it,” Harry said as Ron began to tilt the glass.

 

As the clear liquid flowed over his lips, Janus instinctively swallowed, causing more of the liquid to pour onto his neck, his chest, and the bed than he managed to swallow.

 

Harry swore as he gently allowed Janus’ head to rest back on the pillow. “Well, that worked well,” Ron shrugged.

 

“Neither of us are medi-witches. It’s the best that we can do. If only Hermione would get here.”

 

“Harry.” The soft calling of his name startled both young wizards as they looked down at the bed. Janus slowly opened his eyelids. His left hand groped in the air before latching onto Harry's sleeve and tugging feebly.

 

“The potion!” Ron said, “It must be working.”

 

“Harry,” Janus whispered.

 

Harry grabbed the hand and held it. “I’m here, Janus.” He felt Janus pull his hand up as if trying to reach for an invisible object hovering in mid-air.

 

“Don’t you see them, Harry? The butterflies. They’re so beautiful,” Janus said, his eyes rolling back into his head.

 

“No, Janus! Stay with me!” Harry shouted, softly grabbing Janus’ shoulder and shaking.

 

“Be careful, Harry! Remember his wounds!” Ron stepped closer and reached for Harry’s hands. He turned and looked to the ceiling of the bedroom. “What bloody butterflies?”

 

“You’re not going to die on me!” Harry cupped Janus face in both hands. The skin felt hot, slick with sweat, and rough with stubble. “You can’t. You promised to protect me, remember? You said you promised Remus and Dumbledore, too, that you would watch over me. If that was true, if any bloody thing you said was true…" He squeezed his eyes shut to fight back tears. “If you meant anything you said about us being friends, if you—if you felt anything the night you left me at the Burrow, then stay with me now!” His hands slid back to Janus’ shoulders, and he shook hard, hoping that the pain would jolt Janus’ awake. “Janus, please. I need you.”

 

“It’s over, Harry. He’s going,” Ron whispered as he stood behind Harry and placed his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

 

Harry’s head fell onto the side of Janus’ neck. The tears flowed freely now, mixing with sweat and spilled potion. Ron's hands moved on Harry's back in a pitiful attempt to soothe him.

 

A weak moan came from under Harry. He lifted his tear-stained face up from Janus' chest as a shallow breath escaped the man's lungs, and his eyelids fluttered until finally revealing the glossy, hazel eyes. “Gabe,” Janus croaked as his fingers slowly twirled in Harry’s hair. “Gabe, you're crying like a big pussy. What's wrong?”

 

“Ron! He’s alive!” Harry shouted, ignoring Janus’ question.

 

“And better than that, Harry, there’s Hermione!” Ron shouted as he smiled, and pointed out the window. “And she’s brought help!”

 

“Janus! Janus!” Harry said firmly grasping the man’s head and looking directly into his eyes. “I need for you to release the wards. Hermione has someone here that is going to help you, but you have to allow them to pass through the wards. Do you understand?”

 

“Wards?” Janus repeated, frowning. “Gabe, I don’t understand. Where’s Anna?” Ron opened his mouth, probably to say something snarky, but Harry silenced him with a look before turning back to Janus.

 

“She’s outside. You have to let her in by releasing the protective spells.” He fumbled on the night table until he found Janus’ wand and then forced the butt of it into his hand. “Yes, that’s right,” Harry continued. “She is. You have to let her through the wards. Not everyone else, just her and the person with her. Can you do that?”

 

Janus groaned and turned onto his side as Harry grabbed him to keep him from rolling off the bed. The hand holding the wand twitched, and Janus murmured some indistinct words before letting the wand fall to the floor. He groped for Harry’s hand, found it, and clutched it to his chest. “Gabe, my love.”

 

"Well?" Harry asked looking at Ron.

 

“They’re on the way in,” Ron sighed. “Harry, did he just call you his--’’

 

“Yeah, he did,” Harry answered, squeezing Janus' hand and listening to the sound of voices outside the room.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

“I must protest! This is highly irregular!” The voice came from the hallway. “Where are we? Whose home is this?”

 

“I’m sorry, but now is not the time for explanations,” Hermione pleaded from just outside the closed bedroom door. “I promise you I will try to explain what I can, but we need your help.”

 

“We?” The older woman’s voice rose sharply. “Just who do you mean by…”

 

The bedroom door opened and the two stepped across the threshold. “I see.” The woman finished. “I should have known that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were involved with this as well. They are never far away from you, Miss Granger!”

 

“Madame Pomfrey!” Harry said, as he rolled Janus onto his back. He strode across the room and awkwardly shook the witch’s hand. “Please, we need your help!”

 

Madame Pomfrey stepped closer to the bed. Her eyes drifted to Ron who backed away from the bed, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. “Madame Pomfrey,” he muttered.

 

She acknowledged him with a stiff nod of her own before looking down upon Janus. She watched as the man’s chest rose and fell slowly. Gently, she took his left wrist and held her thumb to it, feeling his pulse. “Weak,” she commented as she placed his hand down on the bed, and turned to Harry and Hermione.

 

“Nurse MP.” The words caused the woman to look back at the man. A tiny smile toyed with his lips.

 

“In all of my years, only one rapscallion has ever had the courage to call me that name. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ward?” She placed her hands on her hips and stared down at Janus’ face.

 

“Always have to give the doc hell,” Janus breathed.

 

“And that you most assuredly did,” she replied, “even now as a grown wizard, you’re still just as bad as you were as a student.” A slow smile spread across Janus’ lips before he coughed and seized into a fetal position.

 

She glanced up at the trio as they stood at the end of the bed. “I will do all that I can, but make note, it would have been much better had this man been taken straight to St. Mungo’s!”

 

“He asked us not to, Madame Pomfrey,” Harry said.

 

She pursed her lips for a moment before nodding her head. “Very well, then. He always was the stubborn one. Miss Granger, hand me my traveling bag. Let’s take a look at what we have here.” She took the bag from Hermione’s hand and withdrew a silver wand.

 

“Now, lift and fold the sheet for me.” Hermione did as was requested, and folded back the sheet, revealing all of Janus’ chest and abdomen. Madame Pomfrey bent closer, thoroughly examining each visible wound, and then tracing each with the silver wand. “Yes,” she muttered as the examination continued. “Very deep wounds and plenty of infection.”

 

“What about his fever?” Harry asked. “I think he almost died before you arrived.”

 

“Let’s see,” she answered placing the tip of the wand on Janus’ forehead and then over his heart. “Yes, a significant fever. How, may I ask, did he come by these wounds?”

 

“In a fight,” Harry answered after exchanging glances with Ron and Hermione.

 

“A fight!” Madame Pomfrey replied, her eyebrows drawing together.

 

“We found him here, and brought him inside,” Hermione said, before the med-witch could ask another question. “I did what I could to heal his injuries, with what I could find, and a potion that I was told about. It’s all there on the table.”

 

Madame Pomfrey reached for the glass, sniffed it, and placed it back on the table. “Indeed you have, Miss Granger. It’s also sheer luck that you found and treated him as you have; otherwise he would be dead by now. These wounds,” she continued as she passed the silver wand over them again, “are potentially lethal, especially the deeper ones. If this one had been an inch to the left or this one a bit higher, well, you'd need an undertaker, not a medi-witch.”

 

“Can you save him?” Harry asked.

 

The witch deeply exhaled as she gazed at the wounds, and then at Janus’ closed eyelids. “Perhaps, Mr. Potter. I will do all that I can. The rest will be up to him,” she extended her wand toward Janus. "It's a question of whether he has the will to survive.”

 

“He must,” Harry softly replied.

 

“That will be his choice, Mr. Potter. Alright then, please go into the other room and wait.” The trio began to leave the bedroom, each of them giving Janus one final glance. “Except for you, Miss Granger. I would like for you to stay and assist me.”

 

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m staying.”

 

Madame Pomfrey gave him a stern look and made a shooing motion with her hands. “You’ll only be in the way. Out!”

 

“You don’t understand. We have a connection.” Harry sat down in the chair next to the bed, clinging to the arm rests.

 

“You should go--’’ Hermione began.

 

“Don’t you start on me, too!” Harry snapped.

 

She sighed loudly. “I was going to say that you should go check on Draco and Narcissa. Moreaux murdered Lucius and then did this to Janus. He came after you and Draco before…” she spread her hands and shrugged.

 

Harry swallowed hard. His mouth had gone dry. “You’re right! You’re right, of course, damn it! But I can’t just leave him here!”

 

“You can and you will!” Madame Pomfrey seized the back of his robe and dragged him to his feet. When they stood eye-to-eye, her face softened slightly. “Mr. Potter, if you expect me to save your friend, then you must give me room to work. Go! Do as Ms. Granger says and check on Mr. Malfoy, and if you find him injured, for Merlin’s sake be sensible and take him to Saint Mungo’s!”

 

“Right.” Harry nodded. “But just to check on Draco, and then I’ll be back.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

The gardens of Malfoy Manor were in full bloom. In Narcissa’s absence, the climbing roses had grown unchecked, swallowing the trellises that held them. Their thorns clawed at Harry’s robes as he jogged down the path, but he hardly noticed them. Instead, his eyes scanned the garden for attackers, or worse, for someone lying dead or injured, as Janus had been. Several times, a dark shape caught his attention and made his heart jump, but each time it turned out to be nothing more than a shadow or a shrub.

 

When he reached the door, he forced himself to lift the heavy knocker and rap instead of barging through with his wand drawn. To the count of twenty, he decided. He would give whoever was inside until the count of twenty to answer and then he would force his way inside and make an end of Moreaux, once and for all.

 

As his mental count reached fifteen, the door swung inward, seemingly of its own volition. Harry had to look down to see who had opened it. The old house elf, Kraven, scowled up at him.

 

“Master Malfoy has been expecting Harry Potter. Kraven will bring the master.’’ The elf raised a hand, but before he could snap his fingers, Harry grabbed his wrist.

 

“Wait. I have to warn you first. Phillipe Moreaux could be coming back here. I know he worked with Lucius, but he’s not your friend. He murdered Lucius, and he tried to kill a friend of mine. I thought he might have—never mind what I thought. Just keep him out. Keep Draco and Narcissa safe.”

 

The house elf snorted. “Kraven takes orders from young Master Malfoy, not Harry Potter.” Before Harry could reply, he had vanished.

 

“If you ask me, Moreaux is not the only, or even the worst, threat to this house.” The words came from inside the foyer, spoken in a sour voice that brought a moment of panic as Harry wondered if Lucius were back from the grave.

 

“Abraxas.” Harry greeted the portrait as he crossed the threshold. “You’re looking better than the last time we met.”

 

“No thanks to you and your red-headed lackeys. Have you any idea of the expense required to restore the Manor after your little altercation with Moreaux?” Abraxas made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room.

 

“Do you have any idea how little I care?” Harry retorted. Thinking of the shattered vases and charred walls made him think of Janus’ cracked ribs and bruised skin. He should be with Janus now; there was no reason to stay here now that he knew Draco was safe, and yet he could not bring himself to leave, or to stop staring down the hallway where he expected Draco to emerge. After a long, sullen silence from Abraxas, he said, “I thought Kraven was fetching Draco.”

 

The old man snorted. “The lord of Malfoy Manor does not allow himself to be fetched by a house elf, especially not on behalf of the likes of you.” His eyes narrowed and moved slowly up and down, studying Harry and making him acutely aware of every flaw in his appearance, from the lock of hair that would not lay down to the thread hanging loose at the bottom of his robe. “The reason for my grandson’s… tolerance of you will never cease to elude me. He should be grieving for my son even as he prepares for his new responsibilities, and yet half the words from his mouth are your bloody name. ‘Why isn’t Potter here yet?’ ‘Does Potter expect me to go and bring him here?’ ‘Is Potter too stupid to realize he’s invited—’” Abraxas’ mocking was cut short by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

 

“Enough, Grandfather!” Draco snapped as he stepped into the foyer. His hair was slicked back in a harsh, unnatural style. Stiff with starch, the collar of his emerald green velvet robe jutted up from his shoulders to brush his jaw. On his left hand, a heavy golden signet sing sparkled. Draco looked every inch the lord of Malfoy Manor, and for a moment, Harry felt as if he were shrinking in his own worn robes, reverting to the boy who lived in Vernon Dursley’s closet.

 

“How long does it take to bury a bloody house elf?” Draco demanded. “I started to wonder if you’d fallen in the hole with the little wretch--’’

 

“I was with Janus!” Harry interrupted, anger erasing any traces of self-consciousness.

 

“With. Janus.” Draco’s eyes widened and then narrowed.

 

“I was taking care of Janus,” Harry clarified. “He went off to fight Moreaux by himself.”

 

“Is he dead?” Draco asked eagerly.

 

“No, thankfully. He’s with Hermione now, and Madame Pomfrey. He’s going to make it through this! I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”

 

Draco shook his head and exhaled loudly. “I meant Moreaux. Is he dead?”

 

“I have no reason to think so.” Harry’s anger cooled, leaving him feeling sheepish for his outburst. “I thought he might come after you next, or your mother.”

 

“He wouldn’t dare.” Draco made a dismissive sound, but his words rang hollow.

 

“I had to make sure he hadn’t been here. If anything happened to you…” Harry wanted to reach for Draco, but he could see Abraxas out of the corner of his eye, watching them.

 

“Enough has happened to me,” Draco said dryly. “All I want now¬…" He glanced at the portraits lining the wall and strode past Harry and out the door. When Harry followed, he closed the door firmly behind them and finished “…is this.”

 

He moved toward Harry, lost his balance as he tripped over the toes of Harry’s shoes, and caught himself by placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders. Once he had steadied himself, Draco bent his head to kiss Harry, but Harry raised himself up at the same time, and so they missed each other. Their noses bumped with a jolt of pain, and Draco muttered a curse as their lips met.

 

Nothing is ever right between us, Harry thought.

 

His hands were on Draco’s waist, moving, grasping, trying to feel the shape of the body beneath the thick velvet. Draco’s tongue was stroking Harry’s, sending jolts of pleasure through him with every motion. The thick fabric between them was maddening. Harry wanted to tear it away, but instead he lifted it until he could reach underneath the robe and stroke the soft skin of Draco’s thigh. When his hand drifted upward, Draco stepped backward and glanced left, then right, as if to make sure no one had been watching.

 

“Not here!” Draco smoothed his robe by swatting it with his hands. “And not now.” He took a heavy gold watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “Mother will be expecting me at breakfast.”

 

“Of course.” Harry swallowed hard, trying to get the taste of disappointment out of his mouth. His head swam with what felt like post apparition dizziness.

 

Draco opened the door and stopped hallway through. “Well? Are you coming, or are you going to stand out here like a stupid garden gnome?”

 

“I…" Harry hesitated. There was nothing he could do for Janus anyway; he would be safe with Hermione and Madame Pomfrey and all of his warding spells. What good would it do to sit and watch him sleep? Even with cleansing spells, Janus’ room smelled of potions, blood, and fever sweat. Harry closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Narcissa’s rose garden and Draco’s cologne. “I’m coming.”

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

Dark, heavy curtains covered the only window of the dining room in Malfoy Manor. A bright but unsteady light came from the intricate silver candelabra that sat near one end of the table. Two places had been set with thin white china, and a tall teapot stood in between the plates, exhaling a cheerful puff of vapor.

 

“Kraven!” Draco called, clapping his hands. When the house elf appeared in front of him, Draco said, “A place for Harry, and fetch Mother.” Waving his hand to dismiss the elf, Draco eased himself into the seat at the head of the table and pointed to the chair to his left.

 

Harry pulled the heavy chair back and sat down on the brocaded cushion. The candlelight flickered on Draco’s face, leaving heavy shadows that exaggerated the sharpness of his features. The resemblance to Lucius was striking. When will he start carrying the silver cane? Harry wondered sourly.

 

A door on the far end of the room opened, and Narcissa entered. She wore a dark, shapeless robe and a tall hat from which hung a black mesh veil. The veil cast strange shadows across her cheeks so that her red-rimmed eyes glistened from within a web of thin, dark lines.

 

“I’m—’’ Harry began, but he couldn’t make himself say “sorry about Lucius,” not when his wrists still remembered the bite of the ropes in the dungeon. “I’m glad you’re safe, you and Draco.”

 

“And why would we not be?” She tilted her head to the side, and her hands moved to her chest.

 

Draco snorted. “He’s still worried about Moreaux. His friend Janus had a run in with the man, that’s all.”

 

“Phillipe nearly killed Janus,” Harry growled. “He’s still out there, and—’’

 

“And Shacklebolt will find him and see him brought to justice, assuming our esteemed Minister wishes for the Ministry to have the continued financial support of the Malfoy estate. Moreaux is nothing to worry about, Mother, at least not for us.” Draco smiled at his mother and shot Harry a warning look.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” Narcissa murmured.

 

Kraven appeared, along with a female house elf who served breakfast while keeping her eyes firmly on her gnarled, grubby toes. A set of china was laid in front of Harry, and the table was soon filled with silver serving platters of eggs, muffins, and bacon. A crisp copy of the Daily Prophet was placed next to Draco’s teacup. Harry reached for the paper, but Draco snatched it away, clutching it to his chest like a child protecting a favorite toy. Once Harry poured himself a cup of tea and took one of the muffins, Draco unfolded the paper and began to turn the pages.

 

On the front page, a moving picture of Kingsley Shacklebolt showed the Minister shaking his head vigorously and pounding a podium. Stan Sharpe’s byline was printed in small letters under the headline, “Ministry Denies Return of You Know Who.” As Harry sipped his tea, he scanned the article, in which Sharpe described the events in the atrium using short, terse sentences. Harry had just gotten to the bit where Sharpe quoted him when the paper began to shake.

 

Harry put down his cup and looked up at Draco’s trembling hands and reddening face. Draco’s mouth contracted into a thin, angry line, and his eyes remained fixed on the paper as if trying to burn it with the sheer power of his rage. With a sigh, Harry rose and moved to stand behind Draco so that he could read along with him.

 

With a world-weary grace uncommon in a man of eighteen cycles, Harry Potter strode into the courtroom, wearing a smile that showed he relished this opportunity to make a dramatic entrance. Throwing court protocols to the wind, Mr. Potter approached the defendant without asking for permission. Heedless of appearances, the two young men so recently suspected of being partners in crime indulged in a tender embrace…

 

Harry bent down to whisper in Draco’s ear, “It doesn’t matter. It’s only a page six story, and it’s Rita bloody Skeeter! No one is even going to read—’’

 

“I’m reading it now, you stupid prat. Look what she says here—look!” He slapped the paper with the back of his left hand, making a loud bang.

 

When asked about their time together in London, the boys shared a glance, conveying to each other with their eyes all they dare not say with their lips, at least not in front of this reporter. Blushing like a bride, Draco Malfoy confirmed that Mr. Potter wears the proverbial pants, to borrow an American expression.

 

Harry put a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Laughter had already escaped. It sounded flat and dull, muffled by the thick curtains, rugs, and upholstery.

 

“You think this is funny, do you?” Draco demanded. He stood up and shook the paper in front of Harry’s face, tore it apart, and wadded the pieces into a ball, which he threw at his face. Harry dodged it easily and turned to watch it arc into the mouth of an ornate urn.

 

“I—No, I suppose not.” Harry reached for Draco’s right hand and got slapped with his left.

 

“Draco!” Narcissa interjected. “This is not the way the lord of Malfoy Manor behaves!”

 

Draco whirled to face her. “Isn’t it? You’ll have to forgive me, as my dear father died before he could pass along all of the proper protocols. Shall I drink a glass of firewhisky and then beat you or is it beat and then drink?”

 

“No one is getting beaten,” Harry said firmly, “not over something this asinine.”

 

“It’s Skeeter who deserves to be beaten,” Draco fumed. “I should make her pay for her lies!”

 

“And get yourself thrown in Azkaban? Even I couldn’t save you then.”

 

“As if I need you to save me. As if I need you for anything!” Draco turned as if to storm from the room and then turned back. His fists shook at his sides, and his face was white with rage.

 

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa murmured. “This is a difficult time for Draco, with Lucius and with all of this business…”

 

“I don’t need you to make excuses for me, Mother! I’m not a child throwing a tantrum, I’m—’’ Draco’s voice lowered, and some of the color returned to his face, although his hands still shook. “I’m a grown man making a hard decision. Harry, I can’t do this.”

 

Harry shook his head. “You don’t mean that. You can. We have—’’ he glanced at Narcissa, felt his face heat, and looked into Draco’s eyes. “No matter what Rita Skeeter writes, no matter what people whisper behind our backs, I don’t care! I love you.”

 

“She was lying, you know,” Draco said. “She was lying about your wearing the proverbial bloody pants. If you think you can tell me that we belong together and that I’ll just go along with it, you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t care if you’re a laughing stalk, or maybe you’re just used to it. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I want better for myself. I want better than this… this… whatever this is that you’ve dragged me into!”

 

“What I’ve dragged you into?” Harry laughed humorlessly. “You were the one who wrote to me, the one who showed up at my doorstep, the one who pushed me down and fucked me in a pile of broken glass!’’ Narcissa made a small sound of distress and fled the room, but Harry hardly noticed her. “You’re the one who taunted me, tormented me, obsessed over me for years! You’re the one who dragged me in, Draco!”

 

Throughout Harry’s tirade, Draco’s face had gone red, then white, then red again, his mouth twitching with the effort of remaining silent. Now, it quirked into a clever little half-smile, and his nose wrinkled as he said, “Fine. The last time I dragged something in, I ordered Kraven to clean it off the bottom of my shoes before it stank up the Manor.”

 

“So that’s how you want to end it?” Harry asked.

 

Draco nodded, his eyes moving to avoid meeting Harry’s.

 

“Then you’re a coward and a fool.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

I want better for myself!

 

The words stung in Harry’s memory as he approached the door to Janus’ home. In his mind’s eye cold, grey-blue eyes hid behind locks of blond hair while Draco’s aroma filled Harry’s senses. He could still feel the soft touch of Draco upon him as the two had shared a warm, lovers’ embrace.

 

“What could I have done?” Harry asked as he stood in place. A stiff breeze flowed through the summertime air, blowing Harry’s hair about as he gazed down at his shadow. For a heartbeat, a second shadow appeared beside his, as if Draco were standing beside him.

 

“Draco, I’m…” Harry started as he whirled around, expecting to see his former love standing just behind him, tapping his foot with impatience. “Sorry.”

 

The empty air seemed to mock him. Somewhere in the forest, a squirrel chirped in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Harry’s fists began to clinch, like a fighter’s before battle, and he bit his bottom lip until the iron taste of his own blood touched his tongue. Spotting a rock that fit perfectly into his hand, Harry wrenched the rock from its place in the ground, cutting the tender skin of his hand on the sharp edges.

 

Storming away from the door, Harry marched toward the edge of the woods, clutching the rock and feeling the dampness of his own blood between his fingers. He began to run toward the nearest tree that stood at the edge of the woods. A low animal-like growl began to form as Harry brought the rock up and unleashed it toward the tree with all of his fury.

 

“Draco!” Harry shouted as the rock flew through the air, striking the bark of the tree, leaving a red-stained stained mark, and falling to the ground. Without thinking, Harry reached for his wand and aimed it at the rock.

 

“Avada kedavra!” Harry shouted, the words erupting in a voice that he didn’t recognize. In his mind, a barrier had broken, taking him back to the depths of his dream when he killed his best friend.

 

The rock disintegrated into dust, as Harry stood taut, allowing the emotions of the spell to flow through him and mix with his feelings for Draco. Harry’s chest heaved, his hand tightened around the wand, and his mind begged to destroy something else. Images of Draco danced in Harry’s mind as he saw their heated kiss, and their passionate love blended perfectly with the Slytherin’s face and Harry’s killing curse.

 

Harry closed his eyes, and emptied his mind until blackness enveloped him completely. A high-pitched laughter came from beyond the darkness until a burst of flame came from the deep in the shape of Voldemort’s face.

 

Harry’s eyes flew open, and he stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Furiously, Harry ripped at his left sleeve, tore the fabric of his robe, and began violently rubbing and scratching at the pale skin upon his left arm.

 

“No! No!” Harry shouted. “You’re dead!”

 

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

When hurried footsteps came from behind Harry, he grabbed his wand and whirled around to face his new adversary.

 

“Harry!” Hermione shouted. “Ron, stop! Don’t go any closer!” She placed her arm in front of Ron, stopping him, and then slowly stepped between Ron and Harry. “Look at him.”

 

“Bloody hell, Harry, what’s gotten into you?” Ron asked, as he stepped aside from Hermione.

 

Harry stared back at the two, his wand at the ready, while his mind grasped for words. “It’s…it’s…it’s …him,” Harry whispered.

 

“It’s…him? Malfoy? ” Ron asked. “I knew that no good, bloody sod…When I finish with him, he’ll wish--’’

 

“Ron, please!” Hermione hissed. “This isn’t the time or place.” She turned her gaze back to Harry. “Harry? It’s me. It’s us. Hermione and Ron…your friends.” She glanced sideways at Ron, and watched as he knelt to the ground. Seeing his nod to her, she slowly lowered herself to the ground, becoming eye level with Harry and exposing her hands to him. “Harry, please, whatever it is, come back to us,” she softly spoke as if talking to a scared puppy. 

 

“Herm…’mione,” Harry mumbled, releasing the wand.

 

“That’s right, Harry, me and ‘Mione. Your friends mate, and always will be,” Ron added, inching closer to Harry until his fingertips touched Harry’s discarded wand.

 

“Ron?” Harry asked, looking into the blue eyes of his best friend, before finally succumbing to the aftermath of his anger. Silently, he began to sob as his lips tried to speak the words that never came. Ron scooted on the ground, catching Harry and allowing him to collapse onto his chest and shoulder as the dam holding back Harry’s tears crumbled. Hermione sat next to Ron, cradling Harry as he cried while whispering soft, comforting words into his ear.

 

Her reply from Harry came in the form of his grip tightening around the two, as the tears and painful sobs continued. The three friends remained there, in their circle, within the moment.

 

 

\------------------------------------

 

 

“Harry, come on, Harry, wake up!”

 

Harry groaned and rolled over onto his side, slowly opening his eyelids, and allowing the light to filter into his eyes. A blurry object standing over him came hazily into view. Harry rubbed his eyes, wiping the blurriness from his sight. Two blue eyes gazed down upon him from under a mop of ginger hair.

 

“Hey, come on, you’re awake now,” Harry heard as the final blur from his vision cleared, revealing a smiling and relieved Ron Weasley standing over Harry.

 

“Ron?” Harry asked.

 

“Good to see you, too! Come on, Hermione’s made lunch.” Ron said as he grabbed Harry by the elbow, and raised him up.

 

“What am I doing on the sofa?” Harry asked.

 

“It’s where we put you, after… well, after you got back from Malfoy’s. You were pretty well mucked up about something, Harry, so Hermione made a sleeping draught, and we let you sleep it off.”

 

“I didn’t need a sleeping draught!” Harry protested. His head swam, and he pressed his temples to stop the dizziness. “Hermione worries too much.”

 

“She wasn’t the only one worried. Besides, you didn’t see what we did. Trust me, Harry; you needed it, more than you think.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Ron. “’Mione said that you’d probably try to argue about it, so there’s no point in trying to complain, mate. Now, here are your glasses.” Ron handed Harry his glasses, and helped him to stand up. Something brushed by Harry’s legs, causing Harry to look down at his feet.

 

“Socrates,” Harry said. The Siamese cat meowed and continued to rub around Harry’s ankles.

 

“Yeah, bloody cat wouldn’t budge away from you,” Ron began. “He just laid there on your stomach, sort of like he was guarding you.”

 

Harry picked up the cat, and began to scratch the animal’s ears, while gently rubbing his nose in the cat’s fur as he steeled himself to ask what he most wanted to know. “Janus?”

 

“Relax, mate. He’s going to be fine.” Ron smiled. “Hermione will explain it all.” He clasped Harry’s shoulder with his hand. “It’s good to have you back. Now, come on, the food is on the table.”

 

They walked into the kitchen and found Hermione hidden behind the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. The scene eerily reminded Harry of Janus doing the exact same thing. Hermione peeped around the paper.

 

“Hello, Harry,” she cheerfully said. “Your food is on the table.” She waved her hand at the food sitting on the table and went back to reading the paper

 

A dull ache roared in Harry’s stomach as he sat down and began quietly eating his bacon sandwich. After several minutes, Harry decided to ask. “Hermione, how is Janus?”

 

“He’s fine, Harry,” she replied from behind the paper.

 

“Hermione, please stop reading,” Harry said, reaching for the newspaper.

 

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she replied, folding away the paper and placing it onto the table. “Just wanted to scan the articles, just in case there was any information about Moreaux.”

 

Ron snorted. “Yeah, right, like you’ll find any good information about him in there. Have you told Harry what that Skeeter woman said about him and Draco?”

 

The sandwich dropped from Harry’s hand, and he swallowed hard. “Can we just not mention him, right now, please?”

 

“Why, Harry? Did something happen when you were there?” Hermione asked.

 

Harry’s jaw tightened, as he closed his eyes. “Like I said Hermione, I don’t want to talk about it!” Harry growled.

 

Hermione recoiled, nodded her head, and raised the newspaper up to begin reading again. “Alright then, we won’t discuss anything about Malfoy until you feel up to it. Isn’t that right, Ronald?”

 

Ron mumbled through a mouth full of food, shrugging his shoulders, and shaking his head at the same time. “Fine with me,” he finally said after swallowing. “But, if Malfoy’s done anything, I’ll turn him into a rat and give him to Crookshanks to play with.”

 

Harry tried to smile as the image played out in his mind. “Thanks,” he said looking up from his plate. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Draco was a distraction. I have more important things to worry about.”

 

“See, I told ya, Hermione!” Ron said, waving a piece of roast beef at her. “I told ya, Harry and Malfoy are like oil and water. They don’t mix.”

 

“Shh! Ron, not now.” She shushed at him, lowering the paper while slapping his hand and causing the roast beef to fall to the floor. Harry chuckled when Socrates scurried over and growled at Ron before he could pick it up from the floor.

 

“How is Janus? What did Madame Pomfrey say?” Harry asked, bringing his attention away from the cat and directing it to Hermione.

 

“Well, thankfully she was able to stop the infection,” Hermione started. “And, his fever is dropping. She said that he should be up and about in a few days, but for one of us to stay here and help care for him until he can get on his feet.”

 

“That’s good,” Harry replied before biting into his sandwich.

 

“Unfortunately, he will have a number of scars from his wounds. It’ll be yet another painful memory for him to have to live with.” She softly bit her bottom lip and took a drink of tea from her glass before continuing. “Ron and I will stay here today, just to make sure that you’re alright, and to help with Janus, when he wakes up.”

 

“Thanks, but I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry said, waving his hand in the air.

 

“Harry, about everything when you returned…” Hermione began.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, while still chewing. He swallowed and sighed. His mind wanted to explain everything, and speak about every emotion that had passed through him. However, he reconsidered, knowing how Hermione would continuously bombard him with questions. “I never meant to hurt either of you.”

 

“We know that, Harry,” Ron said, finishing his sandwich. “But, you did give us a bloody good scare there! It was almost like you weren’t you. Really weird, like.”

 

“Ron, I’m…I can’t really explain it all. I just--’’

 

“Harry, it’s alright,” Hermione interrupted. “You don’t have to. The important thing is that you’re here, and you’re alright.”

 

“She’s right, you know,” Janus’ voice came from behind Harry.

 

“Janus!” Harry stood up and turned to face the kitchen doorway.

 

Janus leaned heavily on a wooden cane, swaying slightly as if about to topple. His sandy hair was in disarray, and dark circles framed his eyes. The swelling on his chest wound had gone down, but ugly red flesh still marred the patch of chest left bare by his fluffy, white bathrobe. “That’s a hell of a long walk down the hallway, for a man with a bad set of wheels. Who do I owe for this?” he asked, tapping the wooden cane with his free hand.

 

“I made it,” Hermione said. “It was Madame Pomfrey’s suggestion that you have a cane to help with your balance, for now.”

 

“I appreciate that very much, Hermione,” he replied, flashing a soft smile to the young witch. “Though the damn thing takes some getting used to,” Janus grunted as he lost his balance, and reached for the wall.

 

Harry crossed the kitchen and caught Janus in his arms, partly to keep the man from falling and partly out of sheer relief. Janus’ day old beard scratched at Harry’s cheek, and his arms tightened with a surge of emotion. “Easy there Harry, easy now. I’m still pretty sore all over. I know I shouldn’t be out of bed. Going against the doc’s orders already, I know.”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to admonish Janus, but closed it again and shook her head. “Just like Madame Pomfrey said you would.”

 

“Well I couldn’t just lay there in bed with the smell of roast beef drifting through the house,” Janus countered, settling carefully into the empty chair with Harry’s aid. “As hungry as I am, I feel like I could eat a horse!”

 

Ron laughed, spurting a mouthful of coffee onto his shirt. Hermione smiled, and giggled. “Well, I’ll get your food ready. Harry can tell you about the trial, and about this morning, then you can tell us what in Merlin’s name you were doing to end up in this shape.”

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

 

“So that’s everything pretty much in a nutshell,” Janus finished, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Moreaux knew that I was coming, and he prepared a trap. That’s how he got the better of me.”

 

“But who told him?” Hermione asked.

 

Janus winked and waved his index finger at her. “Ah, now that is the sixty-four thousand dollar question.” 

 

Ron and Harry shared a glance and shrugged in mutual confusion.

 

“It’s an expression.” Hermione rolled her eyes and frowned at Janus. “Who else could have known you were going after Moreaux? Even Harry didn’t know, or he would have stopped you. There’s something you’re not telling us--’’

 

Harry sighed. “Get used to it, Hermione. He’s not going to talk unless he wants to. The better question is why did Moreaux kill Lucius Malfoy if the two were working together?”

 

“It’s simple,” Janus said. “He was following orders and was paid handsomely to do so. Whoever it is could afford to outbid Lucius Malfoy. Moreaux just played his part in it all, with Lucius that is, and collected his share of gold all the way to Gringots.”

 

The trio sat quietly, deep in their own thoughts, while Janus gazed at each of them. “Why do you suppose that you all lived through his attacks? This is a feared killer that we are talking about here. Hell, look what he done to me, and I was damned lucky just to escape.”

 

“He didn’t let us go, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Harry said. “There were more of us, that’s all. Strength in numbers.”

 

“Maybe,” Janus shrugged. “Or perhaps he was following orders just like an extremely-well-paid thug does. Now, who could it have been? Perhaps a Death Eater that Lucius pissed off in the past? I am pretty sure that there were a number of people that, if they could have done so, would have killed him. Maybe even a Ministry official that has had a number of run-ins with old Lucius before. What about a scorned wife, or a vengeful son?”

 

“Never!” Harry shouted, banging his fist on the table. “Narcissa and Draco would never pay someone like Moreaux!”

 

“Are you so quick to give them a free pass, Harry?” Janus asked, pointing toward Harry’s bandaged hand. “From what you’ve told me, neither of them really made a solid effort to prevent your little breakup. You did say that Draco wanted things to be better for him. What simpler way of doing that than to get rid of a father like Lucius Malfoy, knowing that he is the heir to the Malfoy fortune? Why else would Moreaux not seriously harm him?”

 

“Seriously harm him?” Ron interrupted. “Moreaux never had the chance. Draco and Harry were in the dungeon while Ginny and I took care of him.”

 

Janus’ eyes narrowed toward Ron. “Or so Moreaux wanted you to believe. There are many ways of deceiving people, Ronald Weasley. As I said a moment ago, I believe that he was following his orders from both employers. Otherwise, you would all be dead by now. You don’t cross paths with someone like Phillipe Moreaux and live to tell about it, not unless you are as cruel and vicious as he is.”

 

“Janus, please,” Harry said, placing a hand on Janus’ arm. “You shouldn’t be worrying about this now, not in your condition. Moreaux will slip up soon, and if the Ministry doesn’t find him, I will.”

 

“Maybe they won’t find him, and maybe he won’t slip up, Harry,” Janus whispered as he drank his coffee.

 

“Well, even if they don’t, I think the best thing that we can do is try to protect ourselves. Janus, the wards here surrounding your home, are they impenetrable?”

 

“So far no one has ever been able to get through unless I allowed it.”

 

“Right,” Harry answered. “I think it would be a good idea if we all had wards like these around our homes.”

 

“But Harry, the Burrow already has--’’ Ron began.

 

“I know, Ron. It already has Ministry wards surrounding it, but if the Death Eaters can infiltrate the Ministry and break through them once before, what’s stopping Moreaux from doing the same thing? He knows who we are, and he’s probably going to make another attempt at us, orders or no orders, Janus.” Harry glanced down at the man. “Was it orders when he killed the dancer from the Silver Wolf? Or was it pure sadism?”

 

“Jett was…different. You can never fully understand a man like Moreaux, but I can.” Janus’ eyes lost their focus, and his hands balled into fists for a moment before he shook his head to clear it. “Give me a few more days to heal, and then we’ll do as you say.”

 

 

\----------------------------------

 

 

Ron and Hermione left that afternoon, the latter having repeated the instructions for Janus’ care so many times that Harry had lost count. In the doorway, she stopped to say something about Madame Pomfrey’s potion, but Ron grabbed her arm and dragged her out. “He knows, Hermione! He can handle it.”

 

“Are you sure?” she asked, frowning at Harry. “I could stay…”

 

He shook his head. “I’ll send an owl if I need you. You’ve done enough here, you’ve been brilliant, both of you.”

 

He watched them walk to the edge of the woods and apparate away, leaving him a bit lonely and a bit relieved. With Janus asleep, the house was silent save for the ticking of the clock, and the solitude was a welcome change. He paced the hallway, studying the pictures of Janus and Remus and wondering what it would be like to have such beautiful memories.

 

Careful not to make a sound, he entered the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him for fear that shutting it would wake Janus. He had planned to take the book from the bedside table and bring it out to the living room, but instead he found himself sitting down on the edge of the bed and sliding Janus’ head until it rested on Harry’s lap instead of the pillow. Janus’ eyelids fluttered, and his mouth twitched as if her were trying to speak. Harry smiled, wondering what the man was dreaming this time

 

An indeterminate amount of time passed before Janus stirred again. This time, his eyes flew open, and his mouth opened in surprise before settling into a smile. “Harry. This is much better than waking up to Nurse MP giving me the stink eye.”

 

“I was just…” Harry began, his mind racing for an explanation before he realized that Janus hadn’t asked for one. He slid away from Janus so that he was perched on the edge of the bed. “You were dreaming again.”

 

“Again?” Janus turned onto his side and carefully propped himself up on an elbow, facing Harry.

 

Harry looked away from Janus’ face, focusing on his own folded hands. “The night after we found you, I stayed here. I fell asleep holding your hand.”

 

Janus slightly blushed. “That was very considerate of you, Harry. I really don’t know what to say, but thank you. I--”

 

“Stop, please. Let me finish,” Harry said, as the pace of his words began to quicken. “That night, I had a dream about you, Gabriel, and Anna. You were at a beach. Also, I think I had a dream about your mother bathing you.”

 

Harry watched as Janus stiffened, his breath slowed, and his eyes refused to waver from Harry’s gaze.

 

“What? Did I say something wrong?” Harry asked after a number of quiet seconds had passed without an answer.

 

Janus cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, Harry, you didn’t say anything wrong. What you saw was something that was very personal to me. Two specific memories that mean the world to me.”

 

“Janus, I didn’t mean--’’ Harry began.

 

“It’s alright, Harry. I know that you didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m just grateful that you didn’t see other memories that I have, things I’ve seen, things I’ve done…” He sighed, looking away from Harry for a moment before meeting Harry’s eyes again. “I’m just thankful that you didn’t see something that would cause you to change your mind about me.”

 

“Like what?” Harry asked.

 

“As I’ve told you before Harry, I’m not a saint.” Another tense silence filled the room before Harry broke it.

 

“I still don’t understand why I was dreaming your dreams.”

 

Janus shrugged, his face tightening in pain when his chest muscles tensed, pulling at the infected wound. “Magic isn’t just about wands, curses, learning different charms, potions and learning defenses against dark spells. Magic is about what’s inside of your heart, mind, and soul. It’s an entity that lives within you, and it already knows its’ purpose for you. Regardless if you grow up to be someone like Dumbledore was, or if you’re someone like Moreaux. For a select few of us, it’s a curse that was forced upon us, yet we must learn to live with it…good or bad.”

 

“So what you’re saying is…what?”

 

“What I’m saying is that magic is very deep, and very difficult to understand. It chooses to do what it does for a certain reason.”

 

“Ron said what happened with your dreams was because of a bond between us.” Harry watched Janus, intent on his reaction.

 

Janus mulled a bit, slightly tilting his head, before coming to a decision. “It’s possible.”

 

“But it wasn’t deliberate.” Harry hoped Janus couldn’t hear the disappointment in his voice. “You weren’t trying to show me--’’

 

“Honestly, I don’t remember much after I got away from Moreaux, but whatever we shared, I don’t regret it.” Janus’ hand moved on the sheet, but he drew it back just before it reached Harry’s.

 

“There’s something else I need to ask.” Harry glanced up at the window, noting that Janus had repaired it. “This isn’t going to be like the last time I stayed here, is it?”

 

“What do you mean? Draco’s not here this time, so you don’t have to worry about anyone--about anything happening.”

 

Harry shook his head. “No, it’s not about Malfoy. It’s about you. I mean you’re not going to start climbing out windows again, are you?”

 

A sly smile toyed with the edge of Janus’ lips, and he winked at Harry. “You don’t have to worry about that; it’s not that time of the month.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at the joke and suppressed a brief fantasy of hitting Janus on the arm, as Hermione would do with Ron when he made some stupid jape. Janus would hit him back, and they would end up lying next to each other on the bed. He shook his head to clear the thoughts of what would follow next within his fantasy. “I could make tea,” he offered. “Cold tea, the way you like it.”

 

Janus nodded. “Thanks.”

 

Navigating Janus’ kitchen took longer than Harry expected, and when he returned to the bedroom, he found the bed empty. He looked to the window first and finding it intact, he began searching the house. He flung open the door of the guest room first and found it unoccupied. A loud thud came from the bathroom, and he raced toward the sound.

 

“Janus!” Harry shouted as he flung open the door. “I heard…” he began but stopped. Harry could feel his cheeks reddening as Janus stood before him, naked, in the steamy bathroom, gazing into the mirror, and touching the new scars that littered his skin. Janus’ right hand gripped the sink while his left traced the wounds.

 

“Harry,” Janus said, reaching for a towel. “Damn, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean for you to come barging in here and catch me like this. I was just going to shave and wash off a bit.” He laughed as his fingers finally found the towel that draped over the shower rack.

 

“Merlin, Janus! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Harry stammered, keeping his eyes fixed on Janus’ face as the man struggled to wrap the towel around his waist while still clutching the sink with his right hand. “I…I heard something.”

 

“A can of shaving cream fell on the floor. I’m fine.” Janus gave up on the towel and opted simply to clutch it while holding his left hand in front of his naval, letting the fabric drape down and cover him.

 

“Sorry,” Harry repeated.

 

Janus chuckled. “Hey, it’s alright now. I mean we are two guys, right? And, once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, practically.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Right.” That morning’s kiss with Draco was still fresh in his mind. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Janus, to touch him. Without having made any conscious decision, he found himself stepping forward and gripping the ends of the towel. Careful not to upset Janus’ balance, he held one end in place and wrapped the other around Janus’ waist before tucking it in place so that the towel formed a sort of skirt.

 

“I could have done that,” Janus protested, hopping backwards on his good leg. Now his heels were against the bathtub.

 

“Without falling on your arse?” Harry asked. “I doubt it. You shouldn’t even be up! This morning you were nearly dead.”

 

“Otherwise known as ‘alive,’” Janus said making a dismissive sound. He let go of the sink and grasped the shower rod for balance instead. The new position elongated his body, and the towel slipped down an inch.

 

“You wouldn’t be alive if it hadn’t been for us and Madame Pomfrey.” Harry raised a hand and traced the scars on Janus’ chest with his index finger. “I still don’t understand why you went after him alone.”

 

Janus flinched as Harry touched the edge of the reddened skin. “I would have though that you’d understand why I done that.” He swatted Harry’s hand away. “I had a golden opportunity that the Ministry did not. Do you know how difficult it is to track down someone like Moreaux? I was trying to save innocent people that day¬¬¬¬¬¬…girls like Jett and boys like little Jamie Ward! I had the chance of a lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I was going to pass it up.”

 

“Some opportunity! He knew that you were coming. You said that he laid a trap for you. When I found you, you had his boot print on your back. Did you know that?”

 

“That doesn’t matter. I had to take that chance. I could have saved--”

 

“Listen to yourself! It’s not about who you could have saved. It’s all about you. Moreaux ruined your life, and now you want your revenge!”

 

“And if I do?” Janus asked letting go of the shower rod and rising up to his full height. “Personally, Harry, it’s none of your business what I do.”

 

“It’s become my business, Janus!” Harry shouted, banging his fist on the sink and making the mirror rattle. “Moreaux has come after me, too. I’ve seen him kill Lucius with my own eyes. He even turned and looked at Draco and me before he did it, just like he was putting on a show. So, I think all of that puts me on the playing pitch.”

 

“You think so?” Janus put his hand on Harry’s shoulder instead, leaning heavily and locking Harry in place. “Alright, then, you go out there and find him. Then if you have the darkness and evil inside of your heart to kill him, you do that! Have you ever killed, Harry? Have you? It’s one thing to have someone’s curse rebound and kill them, like with Voldemort. You didn’t kill him, the stupid idiot killed himself! And who benefited from it all? You did,” Janus emphasized by pointing his finger at Harry. “The savior of the wizarding world! You became the envy of the world!”

 

“And you think I liked any of that?” Harry screamed. “I hated it, because it’s not me.”

 

“And who are you then? Who are you to tell me what I should do? Who are you other than Draco Malfoy’s biggest mistake?”

 

Harry stepped back, wrenching his shoulder free of Janus’ grip. The man stumbled forward and caught himself on the sink with both hands.

 

“You know,” Janus continued, “I almost stopped him that night.”

 

“Why didn’t you?” Harry spat.

 

“Because I wanted to for the wrong reasons.” Janus limped closer to Harry, took one of his hands off the sink, and grabbed Harry’s right wrist. “I saw the way you looked at me when you came in here. So I’ll ask you again…what’s it to you if I go after Moreaux?”

 

“You lied,” Harry said through clenched teeth. When Janus’ eyes widened in confusion, he continued, “You lied the night I broke the mirror, the night you let me sleep in your bed. You said you would be ‘out here,’ that you had ‘things to do,’ but when you thought I was asleep, you laid down beside me, you—’’ Harry flushed, suddenly aroused by the combination of the memory and proximity to Janus.

 

Janus smiled and shook his head. His hand traveled up to Harry’s elbow. “I didn’t do a damn thing to you. You’re the one who curled around me, pressing up against me, pretending to sleep.”

 

“Bastard! You know you enjoyed feeling someone against you like that. It’s a hell of a lot better than sleeping outside in the woods, alone. Or in here scared of your own shadow, or whatever demons lurk inside of you.”

 

“Demons?” Janus laughed humorlessly. “You have no idea.”

 

“Then show me!” Harry grabbed Janus’ right hand, wrenching it away from the sink so that Janus had to lean into Harry in order to avoid falling. “I’m bloody tired of being pushed away, so show me, Janus!” Harry’s fingers found the rolled edge of the towel around Janus’ waist, and he yanked, loosening it until it fell. Now only Harry’s clothing was between them, and when Harry took Janus by the hips and pulled him closer, he could feel the man’s hard, hot desire.

 

“Leave, Harry!” Janus rasped. “Leave now.”

 

“Why?” Harry demanded. Their faces were so close that he could feel the heat of Janus’ breath on his lips.

 

“Because I can’t do this.” Janus’ fingers were in Harry’s hair, stroking it rhythmically, belying his own words. “No matter how much I want this, I can’t! I have to stop myself.”

 

“Why?” Harry asked again. “Because of Draco?” Because of Gabriel and Anna? Because--’’

 

“Because of me!” Janus shouted. The force of his voice pushed Harry backwards so that he let go of Janus, allowing the man to stumble and fall onto the toilet.

 

Harry shook his head. “I dunno. I suppose it’s what you like, after all--being alone, except for your precious memories. Draco was right about you all along, and I was the one that was blinded by my own feelings. Maybe there was a reason Remus sent you away, other than the one you told me. Maybe you’re just bloody impossible.”

 

“Harry--” Janus began, struggling to stand.

 

“You’re right. You’re not a saint. If anything, you’re just as vile as Moreaux, and nothing close to the kind of person that Lupin was.”

 

“Harry, please,” Janus said.

 

Harry looked down at the man’s hands on the sink. His knuckles were white with the effort of gripping the slick porcelain. Janus’ eyes blazed, going black for a moment before reverting to the hazel that Harry had found so entrancing.

 

“Alright, I’m leaving,” Harry answered, slowly backing into the doorway. “I don’t need your help anymore, nor do I want it. There was a time that I seriously thought about offering you my heart, but now I’m glad I didn’t. You say that I don’t know who I am. Maybe you should look in that mirror a bit harder and see what I see right now.”

 

He turned, and walked toward the front door of the house. “Don’t worry, I won’t be coming back here, and I won’t tell anyone how to get here, either. You can live with your paranoia forever. And if Moreaux does come after me, I’ll show him just how dark I truly can be.”

 

Harry slammed the door behind him, leaving Janus alone with the phantoms in his head.


	38. New Ones Will Bloom

Chapter 38: New Ones Will Bloom

 

“So, how is Harry’s friend?” Ginny asked, looking up from the book she had been reading. 

“Strange,” Ron replied. “He was on about butterflies and called Harry his love.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but before she could reply, Hermione interrupted, “That was because of the fever. He’ll be alright now.” 

“Good.” Ginny let the book fall to the table. “If I had taken the time to finish Moreaux properly, then Janus--”

“You can’t think that way.” Hermione shook her head. “Any one of us could have checked to be sure he was dead—you, Ron, me, Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Still…” Ginny glanced down at the book for a moment, and her lips narrowed. “Next time I meet Moreaux, I’m not making the same mistake. Maybe we should go back and stay with Janus in case Phillipe comes after him again.” 

“I don’t think anyone can get through the wards on that place,” Hermione said. “And besides, Harry’s there. He’ll send for help if he needs it.” 

Ginny made a surprised sound. “Harry? I’m surprised you could drag him away from Malfoy after all of their tender embracing and bride-like blushing at the trial.”

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron. “Uh, about that…” Ron began. 

“Just don’t say anything to Harry about Malfoy next time you see him,” Hermione pleaded. 

“Oh?” Ginny cocked her head to one side, the corners of her mouth twitching in a way that indicated she was trying not to smile. “Another one of their stupid lovers’ quarrels, or…?” 

Hermione shrugged, and Ginny’s face broke into a grin. 

“You don’t have to look so smug, Gin,” Ron chided. “Harry was really torn up about it.”

“No more than he deserves for choosing that filthy git. I don’t care that he broke up with me, I don’t even care that he’s suddenly decided he’s gay! But I don’t see how he can forget everything Malfoy’s done, everything Malfoy is—”

The doorbell rang, and Ginny jumped to her feet, startled.

“Were you expecting someone?” Hermione asked. 

Ginny shook her head. Her right hand clutched the butt of her wand. 

“Where are Mum and Dad?” Ron asked. 

“Out.” Ginny strode to the door and flung it open, raising her wand to point at whoever was on the other side. When Hermione saw the witch on the doorstep, she grabbed Ginny’s arm and jerked it down. 

“I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall. We thought, that is, we weren’t expecting—” Hermione stammered. 

“Quite alright, quite alright.” The professor waved a hand, which was holding three white envelopes. “With recent events, I can hardly blame a student for being a bit… circumspect.” She looked over the rims of her glasses at Ginny, who had the good sense to flush and mutter her own apology. 

“Mum and Dad are out,” Ron explained. “You can wait for them if you want to.”

“There will be no need for that.” McGonagall handed one envelope to each of them, keeping one in her hand. “Everyone I need to see is present.”

Hermione fingered the heavy parchment and read her own name on the envelope flap, written in Professor McGonagall’s stately, flowing script. It looked the same, felt the same, and –she raised it discreetly to her face and inhaled—yes, it even smelled the same as that very first letter seven years ago. She had told herself that school no longer mattered, that she could teach herself everything she needed to know. Holding the letter, now, though, brought back a flood of memories, and her eyes stung with the effort of holding back tears. “Is it…?” 

“It is your invitation to complete your final year of schooling, Miss Granger.” The professor beamed.

“Thank you.” Hermione fought the urge to hug Professor McGonagall. Her mind was already racing. She would need to make a trip to Diagon Alley for a new uniform, of course; there would be supplies to buy—and books! 

“Yeah, thanks.” Ron echoed, holding the corner of his envelope between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a dirty sock. 

“Then I can count on you to show a good example to your classmates by agreeing to return to school?” McGonagall asked. 

“Of course!” Hermione answered, shooting Ron and Ginny a no-nonsense look. “And Harry, too, I’ll make sure he understands.” 

“Good luck with that,” Ron muttered under his breath. 

McGonagall pursed her lips. “I will convince Mr. Potter.” 

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Snip. The faded blossom fell and landed on the toe of Narcissa’s shoe. Carefully, she pinched the stem of another bloom, raised the shears, and cut. The bush was nearly bare now, and still her hands moved among the greenery, seeking out each flower and lopping it off. A jolt of pain shot through her hand, and she jerked it back to study the bead of blood forming on the pad of her left thumb. Angry scratches marred the back of her hand as well. In frustration, she lashed out with the shears, severing an entire branch. 

“I thought the king of flowers was supposed to be handled with care and respect, or some such drivel.” 

She pivoted and found herself staring into the eyes of a silver serpent. Draco used the head of the cane to point to the rose bush as he kicked at the flowers on the ground. 

“Now that the old, withered flowers are gone, new ones will bloom in their places, stronger and bolder,” she explained. 

“Just so.” Draco smiled as he ground one of the fallen blossoms into the cobblestones with the butt of the cane. “I came to tell you I’ll be gone a few hours. Business, you understand. Father left loose ends with all of his associates.” 

“Business,” Narcissa repeated, disliking the taste of the word. You used to play while I worked in the garden. You used to run through the raindrops and into my arms. “Lucius has not yet been laid to rest, and already you are settling his affairs.” 

Draco scowled. “He’ll be laid to rest when we find the bastard who killed him and make him tell us where Father’s body is.”

If you can find him, if he doesn’t find us first, if he hasn’t ground Lucius’ bones to dust and made boots from his skin .Instead of saying any of those things, she said, “We could at least have a ceremony, and a headstone. It would be only fitting.” 

“It would be a bloody joke! My father deserves better.”

“Does he?” She flexed her arm, remembering what it had felt like to have it broken and untreated. For a heartbeat, she was back in the dark cell, her hands bound and her voice sore from screaming. 

“Mother…” Draco sighed, took her left hand in his, and squeezed. Blood trickled from the puncture on her thumb and onto his pale skin. “He can’t hurt you now. He’s not even a ghost.” 

“I know.” She put the shears in the pocket of her gardening apron and laid her right hand over Draco’s. “If he were a ghost, I wouldn’t think—I wouldn’t wonder…” 

Draco snorted and pulled his hand back, shaking his head. “Wonder what? If he’s still alive somewhere? He isn’t. I saw him die. I looked into his eyes, and I watched as the green light hit him. I watched him hit the floor and lie there with his mouth open and his eyes empty. I know what a bloody corpse looks like. I’ve seen enough of them.” 

“Then perhaps we could bury something of his…” She glanced down at the silver cane. 

Draco pulled a watch from his pocket, glared at it, and shoved it back. “I don’t have time for this. I--” 

The air made a distinctive popping sound, and both Draco and Narcissa turned to see who had apparated. The witch had a crisp pointed hat and freshly ironed black robes. Narcissa looked down at herself, summoned her wand, and muttered, “Tergeo,” hoping Minerva hadn’t noticed the soil on her apron. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, Draco.” Minerva nodded to each of them. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

Narcissa murmured, “thank you” at the same time Draco said, “I doubt that.”

Minerva’s mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed for a moment before she waved a hand as if flicking away an insect. “I’m afraid I am here on official business. This is for you, Draco.” 

She handed him a white envelope, which he immediately opened. He scanned the letter inside before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it to the ground. 

“Draco, what did the letter say?” Narcissa asked. 

“Nothing of importance,” Draco snapped. 

“Merely Draco’s formal invitation to return to Hogwarts,” Minerva said dryly. 

Narcissa looked from the crumpled letter to her son. “Draco, you must at least consider--”

“I ‘must’ nothing! Those miserable Weasley twins didn’t finish school; why should I have to? With Father’s legacy, I am already one of the most powerful men in the wizarding world.” 

“Your father commanded respect because he understood the obligations of his station,” Narcissa said. “We are not Weasleys!” 

“Most certainly not,” Minerva agreed. “Ronald and Ginevra Weasley have agreed to complete their schooling.”

“Two more reasons to stay away.” Draco snorted and used the butt of the cane to knock the crumpled letter into the bushes. 

“My son and I will speak about this at length,” Narcissa promised, wishing Minerva would leave. 

“What you and your son speak of is none of my concern, nor is Draco Malfoy’s status as a student, frankly. As a former prefect, I felt he was owed the courtesy of a personal invitation. Whether he accepts, it is up to him.”

“Thank you—” Narcissa began. 

Minerva cleared her throat loudly. “However,” she continued. “Before making a decision, Mr. Malfoy, you may wish to consider this. Harry Potter has decided he will not be returning to Hogwarts.” 

“Why? Did Granger threaten to stop doing his school work for him?” Draco asked. 

“His reasons are none of your concern,” Minerva said tartly. “What may concern you, however, is the talk that might spread if the both of you were to be missing from school together—”

“We’re not together!” Draco struck the ground with the cane. 

Minerva shrugged. “A certain journalist speculates otherwise. Were both of you to be absent, the coincidence might be… remarked upon.” 

Draco muttered a curse under his breath. 

“That will be enough, Minerva.” Narcissa’s cheeks burned, and her hands clenched. The very mention of Harry set off a cascade of awful images in her mind. You were the one who wrote to me, the one who showed up at my doorstep, the one who pushed me down and fucked me in a pile of broken glass.

“Then I will leave you to your conversation.” Minerva raised her wand and vanished. 

“Stop looking at me that way, Mother!” Draco growled. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. She hadn’t been able to do that since this morning, not without wanting to run to the bath and scrub herself clean. 

“You’ll get your way! I’ll go back to that mudblood-infested cesspit and waste another year of my bloody life.” 

She sighed with relief and took her gardening shears from her pocket. “That will make me proud.”

With an angry flick of his wand, Draco apparated, leaving her alone with the horrible things swirling in her head. She grabbed another branch, hardly noticing when a thorn bit into her fingers, and lobbed off a lush red blossom. Snip. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------

 

Harry watched as Ramses flew from the bedroom window, soaring into the late summer sky. “It’s the least that I can do, Janus. You’ll be better off with Hermione taking care of you,” he said to himself as the owl flew out of sight. Harry turned from the bedroom window, looking at the facedown book on his bed. “She can help take better care of you, and probably understand you better than I can.” 

His thoughts fluttered to the image of Janus naked save for a thin white towel, arms stretched over his head as he held onto the shower rod. Harry’s mind toyed with the memory, changing it into what could have been. He could almost smell the soap and steam, could almost feel Janus’ fingers tangling in his hair. Excitement returned to Harry as he relived the last few moments of their sexual tension inside the cramped bathroom. Harry groaned, sat down on the edge of the bed and massaged his temples with the palms of his hands. “Stop thinking about it, Harry!” He swung his feet up and laid back on the bed and covered his head with a pillow. “You know where it would lead and how it would end! It’s the same as with Draco, nothing but trouble.”

The thought of Draco sent his mind racing to the front stoop of Malfoy Manor. He brought a finger to his own lips, remembering the feel of Draco’s demanding mouth.

What would it have been like kissing Janus?

He wondered, even as his memories returned to Draco. His hand ached with the need to feel Draco’s skin again. Then he felt the bitter words from Draco as their argument replayed in his thoughts.

I’m a grown man making a hard decision. Harry, I can’t do this.

“No, no, no!” Harry shouted, squeezing the pillow and pressing on his skull. “Enough! I’ve had enough of this torture!”

“Famous Harry Potter, lying in his bed, going absolutely crazy because of the demons of his past,” the familiar, snide voice came from the room. Harry opened his eyes as the voice continued. “A tragic case, really. Poetic that everything you touch ends up in ruins.” 

Harry threw the pillow to the floor, leapt from the bed to his feet as anger and happiness mixed in him at the sound of Draco’s voice. “Draco!” He stopped abruptly, expecting to see the blue-eyed Slytherin leaning on the silver cane in his bedroom doorway. 

“Draco?” Harry called to the empty room. In his mind, Draco Malfoy stood in his bedroom doorway, smirking at him with those thin, beautiful lips. “You’re right, Draco. You’re safer without me in your life.” 

He returned to the bed, falling lifelessly onto it and stared at the ceiling of the room. Tears began to stream down his cheek as memories of his short time with Draco passed through his thoughts, until sleep overtook him. This time there were no voices within the darkness as Harry slept.

\------------------------------------------

A grating sound pierced the sweet darkness that enveloped Harry. The noise came in even intervals and reminded him of a Muggle alarm clock that would not stop alarming. Aggravation set in, and Harry stirred from the depths of the darkness to come back to the world of man. 

Opening his eyes, Harry stared at the blank ceiling above, while his ears strained to hear the sound that had interrupted his rest. “It’s gone,” Harry muttered to himself as he lay in the bed. He concentrated on remaining still, as if any movement would somehow trigger the noise to commence once more. He continued to listen for the sound. “Bloody hell,” he groaned and stretched. “It’s all in my mind. Maybe I do belong in St. Mungo’s with Lockhart.” Harry snorted and laughed. “At least he would be better company, and entertainment.”

The sound came again, causing Harry to sit upright in bed. “That’s not in my head, it’s outside.” Harry got up from the bed, and scanned the room, looking for Ramses. Sighing with disgust, he walked to the open window as the piercing meow of a cat came from the street below. “Oi!” Harry shouted from his window. “Shut it, you stupid, bloody cat! Some people are actually trying to sleep up here!”

The cat sat on the doormat at the front door to #12 Grimmauld Place. The tabby feline looked up at Harry for a moment, before meowing once more. “Shut up!” Harry shouted. He quickly scanned the room for something to throw at the cat. Grabbing an empty quill bottle, he hurled it down toward the sidewalk, missing the cat by inches. The cat looked up at Harry and hissed, its back arching, and its fur standing on end. “Go on, shoo! Scat!” Harry shouted, flailing his hands and slapping them together. The cat growled and sauntered away from the door and out of Harry’s sight.

“Now I know why Ron hates those beasts!” Harry muttered, slamming the bedroom window shut. “Something always has to interrupt me!” He stood in the middle of the bedroom, his hands clenched at his side, and a dull, throbbing headache pounding in his skull. Having given up on sleep, Harry made his way to the kitchen and fumbled in the cupboards until he found the makings of a sandwich.

After getting his food, Harry opened the door to the library and sat down at the table. Another memory stormed his mind as he recalled opening the door and finding Lucius Malfoy sitting in this very chair. “No, don’t start this again,” Harry growled. He reached for the nearest book on the table, opened it, and lazily flipped through the pages. Certain words and phrases caught his attention as he gazed down at the print. 

“Hmm…hate potion,” Harry mumbled, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Definitely something that Draco doesn’t need.” He continued to glance through the book, turning page after page. He stopped as another phrase caught his attention. “Malevolent mixture?” Harry asked, putting aside the sandwich. “The malevolent mixture, given its name, acts as a poison and causes morbid and foul effects.” Harry said, as he continued to read the instructions on how to create the potion. 

“Wow!” Harry exclaimed, leaning back into the chair after finishing his read. “That is just about as bad as a Killing Curse. It’d be perfect for Moreaux, if you’d get him to drink the potion somehow.” Harry visualized the thought, before another picture came to his mind. “Hmm…what if I could get Draco and Janus to take a sip of this? Not enough to kill them, but enough to make them suffer a while.” 

Harry folded the page, closed the book, and set it on the edge of the desk. He leaned back in the chair, placed his feet onto the top of the desk and steepled his fingers while his mind envisioned Draco and Janus’ suffering. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and his chin begin to droop. 

Loud, green flames roared to life from the old fireplace, shattering Harry’s vindictive fantasy. Instincts took over as Harry reached for the first thing that his hands could find. He threw the book toward the green flames, and watched as a bright red beam shot through the flames and ash, destroying the book in mid-air. 

Harry shouted as he grabbed his wand from the desk and sent multiple stunning spells into the smoky haze. The red beams from his wand rebounded from the target, striking books on the shelves and sending up flurries of burned parchment scraps. 

Through the clouds of ash and debris, Harry saw the silhouette of a person. “Moreaux!” Harry shouted, leaping over the desk and aiming his wand at the figure. “Avada--’’

“That is enough, Mr. Potter!” Minerva McGonagall’s voice cut through the haze. “What in the name of Merlin are you trying to do? Have you lost your wits?”

Harry closed his mouth, but he still held his wand as McGonagall walked through the settling dust with her own wand pointed at Harry. A small, dry chuckle escaped Harry. “As a matter of fact, I have. How do I know that you are who you seem to be?”

“Well, so much for Gryffindor qualities,” she said, quickly flicking her wrist before Harry could act. 

Harry’s world began to spin, and his body felt as if it were being squeezed downward and inward. The spinning finally ceased, allowing Harry to feel himself on the floor, the hardwood cool and slick against his bare hands and feet. Something about the floor looked odd. The grain of the wood was wrong somehow, the bands of color wider than they should be. In fact, the whole library seemed hundreds of times larger than it normally did. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain that began somewhere past his tailbone and shot through his entire spine, eliciting a high-pitched shriek. He twisted and turned in mid-air to see two gargantuan, wizened fingers holding a scaly pink tail between them. As he squirmed, the fingers lost their grip and the tail slipped down before being pinched again, sending another wave of pain through his body.

“Ouch! That hurts!” Harry yelled, but no words came out of his mouth, only another high-pitched shriek. He glanced at his hands, which were pink and tipped with pointed claws. Raising one paw to his face, he felt thick whiskers extending from his soft-furred cheeks. 

Bloody hell! She’s turned me into a mouse!

“Now, I trust that this answers your question, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall said, lifting him up so that he had a terrifying view of her face. Her mouth was like a cavern, her breath a hot wind when she spoke. “Normally, I would frown upon this kind of discipline, but considering the circumstances, I find it to be very fair. Don’t you agree?” He squealed his agreement and nodded his head furiously. “Good. It’s fortunate for you that a cat doesn’t live here, or else--’’

The mouse shrieked in protest. “Well, I believe that is today’s lesson.” Placing Harry back on the floor, McGonagall flicked her wand, causing him to expand into his natural shape. “Any further questions, Potter?” 

“No. No more questions, professor,” he answered, staggering to his feet and gripping the edge of the desk. 

“Good!” McGonagall said, placing her wand back into the inside of her robe. “I swear, what are today’s youth coming to? That’s the second time today that I’ve had a wand pointed in my face, and I don’t appreciate it one single bit!” she said, sitting down in the chair. 

“I’m sorry, professor. I thought that you were--’’ Harry began.

“I heard you!” she snapped. “And, no, I’m not Phillipe Moreaux!”

“Sorry,” Harry replied. 

“Nor am I some ‘stupid, bloody cat’”!

“You mean--’’ Harry began, closing his eyes and groaning loudly.

“That’s right, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall snapped, her nostrils flaring. “I do not take kindly to people throwing quill bottles at me!”

“I’m sorry, professor. I didn’t know it was you.”

“In the time that you have lived here, how many cats have come and meowed at your doorstep?” 

“None…I suppose.”

“There! I rest my case. You should have known who it was at your doorstep. I tried knocking like a civilized person, but you never answered the door. Since you weren’t at the Weasleys’ home or with Mr. Malfoy, this was one of the few, remaining logical places for you to be.”

“Wait, professor!” Harry said. “You’ve seen Draco? Today?”

McGonagall stared thoughtfully at Harry for a moment before answering. “Indeed, I have.”

Harry’s bottom lip quivered slightly. “Did…did he say anything about me?”

“No. The topic of our discussion was not you. It was about Mr. Malfoy’s future plans. And speaking of plans¬--’’

“Professor, before you say anything else, I’m not going back to Hogwarts.” 

“Oh?” McGonagall asked, peering at Harry over her glasses. “And you are so certain of that, are you, Mr. Potter?” 

“I don’t see the point,” Harry said bluntly.

He watched as she stared across from desk at him; her head slowly nodding, while her lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well then, it is your decision.” McGonagall sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose. “May I trouble you for a cup of tea?” She asked, opening her eyes and politely smiling at Harry. “I’ve had a long day thus far, and still have a daunting evening ahead of me back at Hogwarts.”

Harry nodded, slightly surprised by the woman’s request. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Kreach--’’ Harry said, before remembering the obvious. “Sorry, professor, I don’t have my house elf anymore.”

“Why not?” She asked.

Harry’s eyes gazed down to the desk, as his mind re-enacted the scene that led to Kreacher’s death. “He died saving Draco and me from Lucius Malfoy a few weeks ago, right here in this room.”

McGonagall inhaled deeply before she spoke. “I’m very sorry. However, it is a serious breach of defense if Lucius Malfoy was able to be here. The Order went to great lengths to protect this location against any outside presence. Unfortunately, that work is now ineffective if Death Eaters have been here. If I were you, Mr. Potter, I would seriously consider taking up residence elsewhere.”

“Why should I?” Harry asked, looking up from the desk. “Every place that I’ve called home has been attacked. Besides, Voldemort is dead. So is Lucius Malfoy. I’m not afraid, professor.”

“And, what about Moreaux?” McGonagall asked. “Just because I’ve been busy with Hogwarts, doesn’t mean that I don’t keep up with events. I’ve heard about what has been happening this summer. If you are to stay here, then you should seriously consider stronger protective wards.”

“I will,” Harry replied.

“See that you do, Potter,” McGonagall replied, pointing a long, bony finger at him. “Now, about that cup of tea, or do I need to leave and go elsewhere for it?”

“No. I have tea downstairs, in the kitchen,” Harry answered, standing up from the chair.

“Good. We can finish our conversation there.” She stood, and strode toward the door, while Harry followed in her wake.

\---------------------------------------

They walked in silence, passing through the long, dark corridors of #12 Grimmauld Place, and then descended the creaky stairs, until they reached the bottom floor. Walking into the kitchen, Harry extended his hand toward the table. McGonagall withdrew her wand and flicked it twice. Clattering sounds came from the kitchen area as two saucers, teacups, a teapot, and a kettle came floating through the air, and landed on the table in front of them. After a murmur of “aguamenti” and another flourish of McGonagall’s wand, the kettle began to shake. Steam erupted from its mouth, accompanied by a shrill, thin whistle. The professor poured the water into the teapot, and moments later they each had a fragrant cup. 

“Now that’s much better. Talk always proceeds more smoothly over a nice cup of tea,” McGonagall said after taking a small sip. “Now, Harry, are you still so certain about not returning to Hogwarts?”

The hot liquid scorched Harry’s throat as he swallowed it. He coughed harshly while he tried to answer between gasps. “I…I am, yes.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Harry sat the cup down on the table and pushed it away from him. He lowered his head and gazed at the wooden surface. “There are too many memories.”

McGonagall tilted her head to one side, her eyes boring into him in a way that reminded Harry of Orion, Draco’s eagle. “Memories?”

“Yes, memories. Professor Lupin, Tonks, Professor Snape, even Crabbe and Goyle! And, Professor Dumbledore.” The last name hurt the most to say, and he felt an irrational surge of anger at her for dragging it out of him.

“Nonsense!” McGonagall snapped, slapping the table with the palm of her hand and causing Harry to stiffen in his chair. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes bore a hole into Harry’s face. “It’s because of you, that so many are still alive! It was war, Potter! Innocent people will die in a war, but their deaths will not be in vain. They died, because they believed in you, and in the cause.” 

McGonagall stood up and walked around the table, placing her hands on her hips as she stood by Harry. “Running away from your fears will never accomplish anything, and it surely isn’t worthy of the house of Gryffindor! Each of us has lost friends and loved ones because of this ill-fated war, but what we can do is to honor their memories.” She sat down next to Harry, lightly placing her hand on his arm. “I have always thought of Hogwarts as my home, and in a way, my family. I know that all of this has been extremely difficult for everyone. Yet, now there is a small ray of sunlight above us. Voldemort is dead, and life will eventually return to its normal balance. The world has you to thank for that, along with those who sacrificed their lives to allow us to go on with ours.”

She reached into her robe pocket and withdrew a slim envelope that had Harry’s name written on it in red ink. “This is for you, Mr. Potter. After discussing the matter with the Minister and with all teachers at Hogwarts, we have decided to allow an extra year for those students that would want to come back to Hogwarts and to be taught without Death Eater influences.” She slid the note in between Harry’s hands, so that he could clearly see his name on the front. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger.”

Harry gazed at the neat scrawl of his name on the envelope. A small smirk toyed at the edge of his mouth as he imagined Ron’s groaning and Hermione’s excited state when McGonagall told them this. “They’ve agreed to come back, I take it?”

“Yes,” McGonagall replied. “I dare say that they would like to see you there with them as well.”

“And, Draco?” Harry asked. 

McGonagall sighed before she spoke. Her gaze drifted from the letter, then to Harry’s face, staring her pupil directly into his eyes. “Like the other students, Mr. Malfoy was given his opportunity to continue his studies at Hogwarts. He was reluctant at first, you might say, but in the end I think he knew what was best for him.” 

“Draco Malfoy?” Harry made an incredulous sound. “You’re telling me he’s going back to school?”

McGonagall took another sip of her tea. “You underestimate my powers of persuasion, Mr. Potter. Oh, he was reluctant at first, but with a bit of creativity I managed to convince Mr. Malfoy.”

“Please stop calling him that, professor,” Harry groaned. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“He’s not Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said as he stood from the table and walked away from the witch.

McGonagall lightly drummed her fingers on that table, as she watched Harry. “It is his proper name, regardless of how you feel about him.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Harry asked, whirling on the spot.

“I do read the prophet,” she said, studying him with a carefully neutral expression.

“Rita Skeeter is a liar!” Harry spat.

“Yes, but was she lying?” Before Harry could answer, McGonagall waved a hand. “Don’t bother answering. I can see for myself. You are a Gryffindor, Harry. You wear your heart on your sleeve. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, if only the object of your affections were anyone but Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry quickly glanced down at his hands, trying to control his emotions. “Draco will never be like Lucius Malfoy. I know he won’t.”

“Perhaps,” McGonagall answered, finishing off the last of her tea.

“I’ve seen another side of Draco that he rarely shows to anyone else. There is another part to him, other than the obvious,” Harry said as tears began to sting his eyes. 

“I am not one to delve into a student’s personal life. Yet, if you will, please take a moment to listen to an old woman’s advice. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. Yes, there is another side to Mr.--to Draco. He may not be his father, but he is the son of Lucius Malfoy. The shadow of the man will always hover over him. He will always have this conflict inside of him to be his own individual, but also to be just like his father.”

Harry sat down at the table, rubbing at his fingernails. He slightly scoffed. “You sound like Janus, professor. I had hoped…I mean, I hope you’re both wrong.”

“Only time will tell.” McGonagall tilted her head back, staring at Harry through her spectacles. “I’ve heard about your time with Janus. Trouble continues to find you, does it not, Mr. Potter?”

“How--’’ Harry began.

“There is no need to ask how, Potter. I knew about Mr. Ward many years ago when he attended Hogwarts. Much like yourself, trouble always seemed to have its’ own way of coming to him.”

“I guess nothing has changed about that,” Harry said sarcastically. “At least I’m not the only one.”

“Nevertheless, my time is up, and I have other students to see today before returning to Hogwarts,” she said rising from the table. She drew an envelope from her pocket and held it in her hand. “It was good to see you again, Potter.” Harry stood with her, and stumbled over his goodbyes.

“Do think about everything that I’ve talked about,” she said touching the letter with a long finger. “I think that you would find Hogwarts to be much safer than any other place this year, and that it would do you a lot of good to come back home.” She turned and walked toward the door, leaving Harry speechless in his place.

“Professor?” Harry called as her hand was upon the doorknob. She turned, and looked at Harry. “Truthfully, why did you come here?”

“Because I was asked to. It’s there in front of you, Potter.” She pointed toward the letter. “Just open it, and read.” With that, she vanished behind the door, leaving Harry alone with the letter.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Professor?” Harry called as McGonagall disappeared. He gazed back at the letter, lying on the table. “She’s speaking in riddles just like Dumbledore used to.” He picked up the envelope and looked at his name. “Well, only one way to find out.” Harry turned the envelope over and broke the seal, not bothering to look closely at the design.

The letter leapt from Harry’s hands, floated in mid-air above him and then began to twist and flip in the air, refolding itself into a new shape. Finally, a black line in the shape of a mouth appeared on the paper. The mouth let out a long yawn as two blue eyes appeared on the page. Two black half-moons appeared, one around each eye, and a short arc formed between the two half moons, completing the suggestion of a pair of glasses. 

The eyes blinked several times in Harry’s direction as if awakening from a long rest. The mouth curved upward into a smile as the eyes adjusted and found Harry.

“It’s been a long time, Harry.” Dumbledore’s voice spoke from the paper, filling the room. “Please, don’t be alarmed.”

“I’m not alarmed, professor, just more astonished than anything else,” Harry said, sitting back down at the table as the Dumbledore letter floated down in front of him.

“Now before you begin to ask many questions, Harry, you must know that I only have a limited amount of time to be here. Unfortunately, magic cannot conquer the realm of death. Therefore, I constructed this letter prior to my death during your sixth year at Hogwarts with specific instructions to be given to you, after your defeat of Voldemort. Alas, if all has gone well, then I am asleep in my comfortable chair within the portrait that hangs in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. 

“The purpose of this letter is simple, Harry. I wanted to thank you and your friends for believing in me. You trusted me, and you fully believed in an old man when others would have assumed that I was bound to find my way to St. Mungo’s. Thank you, my boy, for the greatest honor that you could bestow onto an old man’s heart and soul. Secondly, I want to congratulate you on the defeat of Tom Riddle. I know that the victory comes with a very high and bitter cost. Alas, that is life, Harry. Nothing is given, and the only certainty is death. But, in between the beginning and the end is what matters. 

“Minerva had specific instructions if everything went to plan, on the exact day and circumstances in which to deliver this letter to you. Hogwarts, Harry will forever hold a special place within your heart, as it does for me, and as it has done for so many others who have passed through those majestic doors. I anticipated the struggle you would have if you were able to defeat Voldemort. Thus, that is why I am here today, albeit in a limited capacity.”

“But it can never be the same, not after everything and everyone I’ve lost. I can’t just go back to turning rats into teacups and listening to Hermione prattle on about artihmancy! It will all be hollow and empty, and every day, I’ll wonder - is this all? Is this what Remus and Tonks and Sirius died for?” 

The blue eyes sagged a bit, before the letter slowly nodded. 

“Unfortunately, Harry there is no magical cure for that. We must each mourn and honor those that have fallen in our own way. But, if Lupin, Sirius, and your mother and father were here to speak to you now, what do you think they would say to you, Harry?”

“Before Voldemort killed me, I remember they spoke to me. I mean they were there with me and I wasn’t afraid to die anymore, because they were there.”

“They will always be with you, Harry.”

A small smile spread upon Harry’s face as he remembered speaking to his family and friends. “Well, Mum and Dad would want me to go back to Hogwarts, as well as Lupin. Sirius might want me to stay here, but in his heart I think he would want me to return.”

The Dumbledore letter nodded in agreement. “And I want you to return, and make something very special of yourself. Because you were always very special, Harry. More so than simply because of a scar on your forehead. Your home and your future are at Hogwarts.”

“Are they?” Harry asked, thinking of Draco.

“There is one last item that I have to speak to you on. Before my death, Madame Trelawney informed me that she had foreseen a raging storm that would be calmed by a soothing wind.”

“That sounds like something the useless old bat would say,” Harry muttered angrily. “I tried with Draco, but he’s more than a storm, he’s a bloody dragon!”

“Remember, the road to truths has many turns, Harry. Always follow what your heart tells you.”

Harry looked at the bright, blue eyes as the paper began to dissolve in mid-air until it turned into a fine, silver mist, and disappeared. 

“The road to truths,” Harry said to himself. “And I know exactly where that begins.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------

 

The sunlight sparkled as the snitch flew through the air, evading capture. The golden-winged-orb spiraled up and down, crossing over its’ own path, doing everything possible to avoid the fingers that clutched at its wings. A long arm, in a bright orange sleeve stretched for the speedy ball, two fingers barely brushing the smooth, surface. 

As if sensing its imminent capture the snitch darted left, but a large hand clamped over it. The wings twitched one final time, like the limbs of a creature in its death throes, and then they retracted into the body of the snitch. The seeker held his arm aloft in victory as teammates surrounded the player. Their robes moved in the breeze like a rippling orange ocean while spectacular fireworks exploded from the sky.

Ron Weasley stepped back, admiring the Chudley Cannons poster that he had just charmed to provide the image. “Well, if the Cannons can’t win while I am at their match, then I can at least enjoy this,” he said as he swept his hand through his hair, smiling at his work. 

The sound of creaking hinges broke his reverie, and he turned to see Hermione hurry into the room, clutching a letter in her right hand. “Good, I want you to see this,” Ron proudly said, extending his hand toward the poster.

“It’s very nice, Ron, but you have to read--’’ Hermione began.

“Very nice?” Ron felt a flush of irritation creep into his cheeks. “I spent all bloody morning on that!”

“I’m sure you did, but this letter¬…”

Ron put a finger over her lips. “I’ll read it in a second.” Reaching into his pocket, Ron extracted the deluminator, and held it up for Hermione to see. “Now watch this.” He flipped the top of the deluminator, causing all of the light in the room to vanish into the small container, leaving the two in total darkness. Ron reached for Hermione’s hand, and held it. “Look at the poster, ‘Mione.”

The Chudley Cannons poster glowed in a silvery-orange light as the seeker flew through the air, chasing after the golden snitch. A small gasp escaped Hermione as she leaned her head against Ron’s arm and snuggled closely while watching the seeker capture the snitch and celebrate with the team. 

“It’s beautiful, Ron,” Hermione admitted, as the lights came back on in the room.

“Thanks,” Ron muttered. His face was burning now. Impressing Hermione meant more to him than he would admit, even to himself.

“This just came from Harry,” Hermione said, glancing down at the letter.

“What? It’s not bad news about Janus, is it?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly. Harry isn’t at Janus’ house anymore. He’s back at Grimmauld Place.”

Ron frowned. “Well, I’m sure he had a good reason--’’ he began.

“Ron!” Hermione interrupted. “How could Harry do this? He knows what kind of condition Janus is in! The man almost died. It’s irresponsible to leave him on his own. I don’t know what’s gotten into Harry lately.”

“Other than Draco Malfoy,” Ron muttered under his breath and received a slap across his chest in response. “Oww!” Ron shouted. “That’s getting old, Hermione!” Ron pressed his lips together, while his hand rubbed the place where he had been hit. “Don’t…” he started, but a look from Hermione caused him to change his words. “Don’t you think you may be over-reacting, just a bit?” He raised his hand with his thumb and forefinger close together.

“How can you say that?” Hermione asked, folding her arms.

“Just a thought. Did he say why he left?” Ron asked, reaching for the letter and scanning it.

“No, he didn’t,” Hermione answered, before Ron could finish reading. “Which is why I think something’s wrong. You’d better go to Harry and find out what happened, and I’ll go see about Janus.”

Ron dropped the letter. “No, Hermione.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head.

“No. If Harry didn’t say why he left in this letter, then it’s not our business to go and pry it out of him. He’ll tell us, if and when he wants to.” 

“But Ron, what is Harry’s--’’

“He’s fine,” Ron whispered, stepping closer and cupping Hermione’s face in his hands. “I know my best mate. Let him be.”

Her brown eyes met Ron’s, and her face relaxed. She raised her left hand and put it over his right. “Alright, you win. I won’t make you go and check on Harry, but I still want to go see Janus.”

“Thank you,” Ron answered, releasing his gentle touch. “But, you’re not going alone. Just in case Janus starts to act all dodgy, I’m going to be there with you.”

Hermione beamed. “Aww, Ron, that’s very noble, and sweet.” 

Ron shrugged, and smiled back. “You’re my Hermione, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

 

\-----------------------------------

 

“Alright already! I hear you! Just give me a minute to get to the door!” A single thud was followed by heavy footsteps as the locks jiggled loose, allowing the door to swing open. Janus appeared before Ron and Hermione, leaning on the cane with one hand and holding the door with the other. He wore a puffy bathrobe with faded blue and black stripes. “Well, well this is a most unexpected visit. Come in if you want.” He gestured toward the sitting room.

“That’s alright—’’ Ron started to say, but Hermione cut him off by thanking Janus and leading Ron across the threshold by the hand. She could hear Janus shambling along behind her, his cane thudding on the hardwood with each step. When they reached the sitting room, she perched on the edge of the leather sofa and Ron sat down beside her. Janus lowered himself into an upholstered chair, wincing as he bent his injured limb. A large Siamese cat appeared from under the chair and vaulted onto Janus’ lap, making the man’s face contort in pain until he scooted the animal onto his good leg. 

“And what brings you to my door today?” Janus asked, smiling in a way that didn’t touch his eyes. 

“Harry asked me to look after you,” Hermione said.

“Did he, now?” Janus shook his head slightly. “I’m touched.” 

“He didn’t say why he couldn’t take care of you himself.” Hermione crossed her arms and waited for an explanation, but Janus only stared at her with that enigmatic smile. She wondered if he wanted her to ask a proper question, and perversely, she stayed silent.

“Janus?” It was Ron who broke the silence. 

Both Janus and Hermione turned to look at him. “What?” they asked in unison. 

“I was just wondering if you had anything to eat, that’s all.” Ron gestured toward the kitchen. “Apparition always makes me hungry, and if it’s going to be a while…” 

“Honestly, Ron?” Hermione snapped. “That’s all you can think about-- food?” She slapped his arm several times for emphasis. 

“It’s true!” Ron shrugged, looking from Hermione to Janus. 

Janus laughed, and the sudden, abrasive sound caused Socrates to jump down from the man’s lap. “Yeah, Ron, there’s food in the kitchen. Find whatever you like in the fridge.”

“Thanks!” Ron stood up from the couch and hurried down the hallway while Hermione rolled her eyes at his back. 

Once Ron was out of sight, Hermione rose from her chair and crossed the room so that she stood over Janus. She didn’t like the thought of bending over him, but kneeling would worse, so she decided to sit on the arm of the chair. Somehow that was even more awkward than standing. She reached for the lapel of Janus’ robe to pull it open, then retracted her hand, too embarrassed to go through with it. 

With a smug little smirk on his face, Janus pulled the front of his robe open, exposing what looked like a week-old wound. The swelling had almost gone, and the flesh was already beginning to knit together. “Is this what you wanted to see?” he asked. 

She nodded and reached out to probe the newly healed skin with her fingers. 

“Need to see any more?” he asked. 

She shook her head, stood up, and returned to the couch. “How?” she asked simply. 

“You mean how could a backwoods hick like me know more about healing than the famous Hermione Granger?” He touched the skin over his heart before closing his robe again. 

“That’s not what I meant!” she protested. “It’s just…Madame Pomfrey said you were near death, and now…” 

“Would you believe it’s a miracle?” Janus flashed a grin that she supposed was supposed to be charming. On another man, it might have been, but something about Janus’ sharp, foxy face ruined the effect. 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ron return to the sitting room, carrying a blue bowl with what looked like meatballs in it. He sat down next to her on the couch, and she wrinkled her nose at the rich, oily smell of the food. To Janus, she said, “No.” 

Janus spread his hands. “What can I say? I’m caught. Might as well admit it—I met a demon at the crossroads, and I sold my soul. I get a few superpowers, and all I have to do in return is to spend a couple nights a month doing the devil’s work.”

Hermione glanced at Ron and saw that his eyes had widened and he had stopped chewing his food. His cheek’s bulged like a chipmunk’s. She elbowed him and gave Janus a dirty look. “He’s joking, Ron.” 

“Oh.” Ron muttered around his mouthful of food. “Well, that’s alright then.” He shrugged and picked up another one of the meaty gobbets. “Exactly, what is this, Janus? It’s tasty!” He popped the meatball into his mouth and began chewing. 

Janus stared at the bowl for a second, before a smiling broadly. “You, Mr. Ronald Weasley, have just had your first taste of Southern delicacy. That is chicken gizzards covered with peanut butter.”

Ron’s eyes bulged from his head as the words clicked in his brain. He slowly spat the chewed up pieces back into the bowl. “Chicken what?”

“Gizzards!” Janus finished, as he began to shake from laughter. “In parts of the South, people cook chicken gizzards, which are part of the digestive system of the bird.”

“You mean I’m eating a bloody chicken’s stomach?” Ron asked, his hands trembling as they struggled to hold the blue bowl.

“Yep. But, look on the bright side; it can’t be any worse than haggis, right?” 

“Worse!” Ron shouted. He closed his mouth, and put a hand on his stomach.

“I made that batch there for my fishing trips,” Janus continued, oblivious to the retching sounds coming from Ron. “Put a little bit of peanut butter over the gizzard and it makes excellent fishing bait.”

“I’m eating fish bait?” Ron asked, his hand now firmly covering his mouth. 

“Afraid so. It stays fresh if you keep it cool. I forgot that I had it in the fridge. Don’t worry; I can always make more.”

Ron threw the bowl down, sprinted down the hallway, and crashed into the bathroom. “I suppose Southern cooking just doesn’t agree with his stomach,” Janus quipped, as sounds of Ron vomiting came from the bathroom. 

“Ron, just take your time and get it all out,” Hermione called. She turned back to face Janus. “I still want to know how you healed so quickly.”

Before Janus could answer, the toilet flushing followed by the running water from the tap interrupted them. A few moments later, Ron came out of the bathroom, looking paler than usual. “Bloody hell, Hermione. He tried to poison me.” Hermione tried to smile at Ron, but instead only shook her head and pulled him down beside her on the sofa. “Just lay your head back, Ron and relax.”

“Alright, ‘Mione,” Ron nodded and laid back on the sofa, covering his face with his long arms. 

“You were about to say, Janus.”

“Remus was an excellent teacher, and he taught me so much about herbs and potions. It’s why this house was built here. The forest that surrounds this home has everything in it that one would need to survive. There’s food, water, herbal medicine, and protection. Plus my training and experience with the WTF allows me even more access to books, and other studies that teach a person how to heal faster from injuries.” 

“I’d like to see those books,” she said. 

“Sorry. Classified.” 

“Convenient.” Hermione snorted. “Another thing I’d like to know--what happened between you and Harry?” 

Janus put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, frowning. “And just what do you mean by that?” 

“It’s not like him to leave a friend who needs him, not unless he had something more important to do, or if you… I don’t know… if you sent him somewhere?”

Janus sat back in the chair. “I’m back on my feet now. I don’t need Harry to fetch and tote for me. I sent him home, that’s all.” 

“But that doesn’t make sense. If you don’t need anyone taking care of you, why did Harry send me?” Hermione asked. 

“Maybe he thought I’d be more likely to let you boss me around, tell me to go back to bed, drink some broth, no heavy lifting, that sort of thing.” 

“I don’t think anyone could order you around,” Hermione said. 

Janus smiled at Ron. “She gets it! Look, about the fish bait—’’

Ron slapped his hands in front of his mouth and bent forward as if his stomach had suddenly contracted. “Oh, Merlin! Don’t call it that.”

“Right. Anyway, sorry it didn’t agree with you.” Janus didn’t look sorry at all when he said that. 

Hermione patted Ron’s arm as she helped him to stand up from the sofa. “That’s alright. He shouldn’t eat so much, anyway.” 

“He’s a growing young man,” Janus said as he showed them to the door. As Hermione reached for the doorknob, Janus caught her arm. “If you see Harry, tell him…” Janus paused, frowning. 

“Yes?” she prompted. 

“Tell him if he changes his mind about needing my help, I’m here.” 

Hermione opened the door and led Ron out into the sunlight. “I will, Janus. Goodbye.”

The door closed behind them as they walked toward the edge of the yard. “He’s hiding something,” Hermione said, as Ron stood wearily beside her.

“Something worse than fish bait covered in peanut butter?” He burped and covered his mouth, grimacing.

Hermione frowned. “Maybe.”

“Well, I told ya he was dodgy,” Ron replied, and burped again.

“Harry probably did the best thing in getting away from him. Well, come on, let’s get you home and see what your mum can do for you.” 

\------------------------------------------------

A knock came from the door. Janus sighed, tossed the Daily Prophet away, and reached for his cane, anticipating the now-familiar blast of pain that would come when he stood. “What?” he shouted at the door.

Once more the steady knock came from the other side. “Look, I don’t need this,” Janus grumbled getting up from the chair and limping toward the door. Irrationally, he hoped to see Harry on the other side, even with everything that had happened between them. 

The knocking persisted. 

“What? Just a damned minute! Give a guy time to answer his door before you go beating it down!” Janus shouted as he unlocked the door. 

When he saw the person on the other side, he tensed his face to keep his jaw from dropping. “It’s been a good long while now. What brings you to my doorstep today?”

“I have a job for you to do, Mr. Ward?” the woman said. 

“I don’t use that name anymore.”

The woman flicked a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes. Janus, then. Are your service available?”

“In a few days I will be. Right now I’m still on the injured reserve list,” Janus chuckled, pointing down at his cane. He scratched at his chin, pondering the offer. He could guess what she wanted. “What’s the payment?”

“Anything, that you like.”

He scratched the stubble on his face, thinking about his reply. “Good, then I accept.” 

The woman handed him a rolled piece of parchment. “Your instructions are there. Contact me before you begin, and everything will be arranged.” The woman apparated out of sight, as Janus closed the door and then looked at the parchment. 

He opened it, read the instructions, and then crumpled the parchment into a ball, which he tossed into the air. With a flick of his wand, the ball burst into flame, incinerating so completely that no ashes marred the floor. A slow smile spread over his face. “Luck is when opportunity knocks, and you answer.”


	39. Impure Motives

Chapter 39: Impure Motives

Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…

The sound of the clock was like the beak of some incessant bird tapping on Kingsley Shacklebolt's brain as he sat in the empty office, waiting for its occupant.

"Late," he grumbled, taking out his pocket watch and observing the time. Petulantly, the minister glared at the hands of the ticking clock that stood behind the desk. After shifting his weight in the stiff chair, Kingsley sighed loudly and then stood in front of the desk, stretching and lightly massaging his knees.

"Good evening, Minister." The voice came from the portrait to his right.

"Evening, Armando," Kingsley replied, walking toward the portrait and flexing his ankles in the process to work out the kink that had developed from sitting and waiting on his appointment. "Long day?" He asked, nodding his head toward the landing above the stairs, where the door to the office remained closed.

"Yes, indeed," the aged wizard replied, scratching his silver beard. "The headmistress has had guests in and out all day."

"I know the feeling." Kingsley nodded, rubbing his eyes briefly.

"Yes, yes, I too remember that feeling all too well, though I suppose when one's dead, one becomes a bit callous to the plight of the living." The dead headmaster sighed, stuffed his hands into his robe pockets, and turned his gaze from the stairway landing to the tired Minister who stood before his portrait. "I suppose that we have you and your Ministry regime to thank for the swift restoration of Hogwarts?"

"You don't need to thank me, Armando," Kingsley answered, waving his large hand at the portrait. "Many other people volunteered their time and efforts to repair and to rebuild Hogwarts. For that, I am thankful. They made my job a little bit easier."

"Quite so, Minister. I'm just glad I still have a home for my portrait. Merlin's Beard! Who knows what may have become of my portrait if the Dark Lord and his rabble had destroyed the castle. I suppose I would have had to find occupancy in some sort of old wizard's home."

Kingsley chuckled to himself. "Not exactly the best place for a former headmaster of Hogwarts."

"I should say not, Minister!" The former headmaster huffed, picking up a gnarled cane and pointing it at Kingsley. "See to it that Hogwarts will be secure, and make sure the riff-raff are exterminated, permanently!"

"Times may change, yet the feelings stay the same. Wouldn't you agree, Albus?" Kingsley mused, as he walked over to the portrait of the sleeping wizard. He stood in front of the portrait before a familiar ticking sound caught his attention. Glancing down at his pocket watch, he sighed again before looking back at the sleeping figure of Albus Dumbledore. "I guess it's not polite to rush a woman, is it?"

He glanced back up at the landing before continuing. "There are so many things that I wish I could say to you, old friend." He sighed deeply, looking down at his feet and dragging the toe of his boot against the floor. "Things are so much different now, Albus. I just wish that you were here to offer a few words of advice." He looked up at the picture, hoping to see a hint of blue from the closed eyelids.

"Talking to the dead, Minister?" Minerva McGonagall's voice came from the landing above.

Kingsley whirled. "Madame Headmistress." He smiled, walking over toward the desk.

"It's pointless to speak to him, Kingsley," McGonagall stated as she began to descend the stairs. "I can't recall how many hours I've sat, speaking out loud in the hopes that his portrait would reply." She stepped down from the final step, her black robe flowing behind her as a midnight blue shirt hugged her thin frame. "The most I've ever seen him do is slightly rock to and fro in his chair." She gazed at the portrait one last time, before extending her hand toward Kingsley and the chair that he stood beside.

Passing by the phoenix, McGonagall caressed the majestic bird, eliciting a soft, haunting cry from Fawkes, who took flight and disappeared in a flash of light. A single feather floated in the air until it came to a soft landing upon the desk where the minister and headmistress now sat.

Before either party could speak, the sounds of feet shuffling along with murmured gripes and grumbles came from the portraits that hung on the walls of the office. Various witches and wizards hurried through different frames, oblivious of the owners. One of the painted wizards knocked a sleeping wizard from his chair, seized the man's staff, and used it to beat aside the others who competed for a better view of the conversation that was about to take place.

"Is it always like this?" Kingsley asked, raising his hands toward the overcrowded portraits. "I've heard of news traveling fast, but this…"

"I say, really! Shame on you all for acting like a herd of wild hippogriffs," McGonagall chided. "Is this how portrait subjects in Hogwarts behave?"

A few of the witches and wizards looked down at the bottoms of the frames, avoiding McGonagall's eyes. Some mumbled haphazard apologies, while others began to walk back out of the portrait frames.

"That's much better!" McGonagall nodded approval. "If there is any news that I deem necessary for you to know, then I will share that with all of you and the staff of Hogwarts. For now, please leave the Minister and me to speak without…prying…ears." She emphasized the finals three words, and the occupants of the portraits left their frames, save for Albus Dumbledore, Armando Dippett, and Phineas Nigellus.

"Now," she said, turning her attention from the portraits to Kingsley, "please begin, Minister."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you, Headmistress McGonagall." He reached into his robe pocket and extracted a rolled slip of parchment. "I need to speak to you, Minerva, about some of the names on the list of Hogwarts teachers that you have submitted to the Ministry."

"Oh?" McGonagall slipped on her glasses and adjusted them on the bridge of her nose. "I saw nothing wrong with the personnel that I submitted."

Kingsley unfolded the parchment, placed it upon the desk, and slid it forward for the headmistress to see. "You know which names I have an issue with," he said, tapping a large finger over four of the names that the headmistress had scribbled.

"They are all perfectly suitable for the job," McGonagall stated, brushing aside the Minister's statement. "Tea?" She asked.

"No." Kingsley replied flatly.

McGonagall waved her wand and a small cup and saucer appeared on the desk beside her hand. "They have all of the necessary qualifications. Aguamenti." The cup filled. She took a satchel from the drawer of her desk, sprinkled some leaves into the cup, and flicked her wand. The water began to darken and steam.

"Viviane Rivail for divination?" Kingsley asked, picturing the fortune teller's flamboyant make-up and loud floral robes. "Are you aware of this woman's reputation in the muggle world? If she attempted to abuse magic in such a way on this country, she would be in Azkaban."

"Yes, well, Americans are not known for their ability to uphold the natural order of things, are they?" McGonagall smiled wryly. "Have you ever seen her muggle television show, Minister?"

"I have no time for such things!" Kingsley waved a hand.

"Because you would find yourself impressed if you had," McGonagall continued. "Miss Rivail has qualities sorely lacking in the wizarding community, and she helps people to the best of her ability."

"You believe she has the second sight?" Kingsley shook his head. "Minerva…"

"I believe she has empathy and insight. These are qualities the students need in this time of healing."

Kingsley snorted. "So you hired her because you watched her console a few desperate souls with promises of future glory.

"No. Viviane approached me. She accosted me at The Three Broomsticks with a story about a vision of herself helping the students of Hogwarts. It was the day after Sybil announced her retirement."

"And you believe her vision was genuine?"

"I believe that she believes it, Minister. I did not make the decision then, of course." She sipped her tea before continuing. "I researched Viviane with a variety of discrete inquiries and found nothing untoward. Even the muggles who call her a fraud like her."

"There is still a fundamental dishonesty in what she does." Kingsley folded his arms across his chest.

"Which is why she won't be doing it any longer; she will be teaching here instead." The expression on McGonagall's face could be called a smirk if it were to grace less dignified features. "Who on the list is your next objection?"

"Arsenius Jigger to replace professor Slughorn at potions? This requires an explanation."

Minerva's eyebrows drew together and she tilted her head to the side in surprise. "Mr. Jigger is a respected author with teaching experience."

"He has rather too much experience, wouldn't you say?"

"If you are referring to his age, Kingsley, and I hope you are not, may I remind you that Albus Dumbledore accomplished more in his later years than either of us in our youth? If anything, Arsenius' advanced age is a testament to his skill in his craft."

"Perhaps so," Kingsley agreed reluctantly. "Still, as a business man, Jigger served customers of a questionable nature."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "He is a pragmatist. I will not deny that, but I could say the same of any member of Slytherin house. Hogwarts has never excluded those who view self-interest as a virtue."

"And perhaps that is a mistake," Kingsley said softly.

"Time will tell," McGonagall said tartly. "Unless you would like to consult with Professor Rivail on the matter. Who else concerns you?"

"Marius Black as groundskeeper." Kingsley tapped the paper.

A loud, dramatic sigh erupted from the wall. "You're fighting a losing battle, Minister!" Phineas called from his frame. "I objected to that appointment in the strongest possible terms."

"That objection being your personal embarrassment at having a squib in the family," Minerva said. "Marius is a man of integrity who has been given far too few opportunities in life. Unlike his predecessor, he is not a known associate of the likes of Dolores Umbridge and has never been involved in the abuse of students. I will hear no more about this. Moving on?"

After exchanging a rueful glance with Phineas, Kingsley tapped a third name on the paper. "This man. He isn't approved, nor have his qualifications been given by the Ministry of Magic. He had a reputation for being unstable, even as a student. Also, I needn't remind you of his condition. Merlin's Beard, Minerva, look into his past! The man is a killer," Kingsley replied, pressing the weight of his wrists down upon the desk. "And you have someone like him teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

She paused, gazing at the Minister over the top of her glasses before continuing. "And in this age, who among us is not a killer? Even the innocent must kill sometimes in order to survive. I've read about what happened years ago. He was acting under orders. It was a painful decision. Yet, one that had to be made. In doing so many lives were spared. Sacrifice, Minister. It's a term that we are all unfortunately are too familiar with."

"Sacrifice is a part of life, Minerva. Perhaps you are sentimentally attached to him because he was a favorite pupil. Or do you have a better reason for choosing this man?" Kingsley replied, folding his arms across his chest.

McGonagall sipped her tea and placed the saucer down upon the desk, before putting on her best disciplinarian face. "Now, you of all people, Kingsley, would know the difficulties of filling this post at Hogwarts. Just about every witch or wizard that I have spoken to believe that You-Know-Who's curse still lingers over the post. Even those that don't believe are still hesitant to take up the position."

Kingsley shook his head. "Still, there are more appropriate choices."

"Well…what about you Minister? If you have such an issue with the person that I have selected and agreed to, why don't you take up the post? Especially with your Auror experience and skills, you'd be a logical fit for the job."

"Minerva, please," Kingsley began, holding his hands out. "My position is taxing enough as it is. I hold the weight of the wizarding world, it seems, and everyone demands immediate results." Kingsley ran his hand over his bald head. "It's enough to drive a man absolutely mad."

"I suppose that it is a very thankless job. Albus often commented about that. I believe that's why he never did accept the position, because he knew that he would be unhappy." McGonagall eyed him over the top of her glasses. "Speaking of being mad, I've read about what happened after the Malfoy trial."

Kingsley shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Rest assured that I know who is responsible, and that I have my best Aurors out combing the country for him."

"All but one, I would rather say, Minister." The headmistress sipped her tea again before continuing. "The Auror Westbrook, has not been seen since the incident that happened inside the Ministry of Magic."

Kingsley shifted again in his chair. "Well, yes, Minerva, I suspect foul play has befallen Auror Westbrook. It is most unlike him to not report to duty."

"Do you have any leads? And what of his family? What are you telling his wife and young son?"

"We are following up on several leads, and I will tell his family exactly what they need to know." Kingsley cleared his throat. "Which brings me back to him." He tapped his finger once again over the name. He stared at his tapping finger for a moment, and then into the aged eyes of the new Hogwarts headmistress. "He's dangerous, Minerva. In my opinion, he's too dangerous for a new headmistress and for Hogwarts."

McGonagall's lips lightly parted, and a soft clicking sound escaped her throat before she spoke. "Thank you for your opinion, but a danger foreseen is half avoided, Minister."

"Mcgonagall, if you would please just let me put-" Kingsley began.

"Put what, Minister?" She asked. "A Ministry official as a teacher? You remember how well that went when your predecessors placed Dolores Umbridge here at Hogwarts! The school was a totalitarian state."

"I assure you, it won't be like that this time."

"Minister, please!" McGonagall protested, standing up and toppling her chair over onto its side. She took several deep breaths, her nostrils flaring, before returning her chair to its normal position, and taking her place on the cushion. "My apologies, Kingsley. I do not wish there to be ill feelings between us. However, I am asking you to please trust me and to please leave Hogwarts in my care."

"Minerva…" he stopped as the headmistress held her index finger up.

"Minister, I do not dictate to you how to run your office. I expect that you extend me the same courtesy." McGonagall lowered her finger and folded her hands, placing them on the desk. She gazed at the portrait of Dumbledore before continuing. "I didn't ask him to take the post, Albus did. I simply delivered the letter."

"You're saying that Albus Dumbledore chose him as a professor?" Kingsley asked, turning in his chair and looking up at the sleeping portrait.

"Albus told me that should Voldemort's demise happen, thanks to Harry Potter, and that if the Defense Against the Dark Arts post were to be open, then I was to take his letter to him. I trusted Albus, and I hope that you will give him that same trust as well."

Kingsley sighed, looking intently from the portrait back to the headmistress and back to the portrait again. "I see," he said, rising from the desk and fastening his traveling cloak around his neck. "I will allow this for now, Minerva, because I did and I do trust Albus Dumbledore. I just hope that the trust is not misplaced."

"Thank you, Minister," McGonagall replied, rising from her chair and walking to the door of her office.

"Keep him in line, Minerva. Because if he crosses it, I will be there to stop him." Kingsley reached for the doorknob and showed himself out of the office.

McGonagall walked back to the center of the room, her hands pressed together, almost in a prayer, covering her thin lips. Deep in thought, she gazed at the portrait and for an instant thought that she had seen the faintest of smiles on Dumbledore's face. "I know what you are thinking, Albus. I just hope that we both are right about this one."

She sighed and walked back to her desk, only to have her attention drawn away by the soft clearing of a throat. "My dear madam. I find it absolutely horrific that you would give any Hogwarts job to someone with an incomplete education, much less the Defense of the Dark Arts job! How utterly absurd!" Phineas Nigelus tisked, tilted his chin up in the air and walked out of his portrait frame.

"I must agree with Phineas," another voice came from a second picture frame. "It is an awfully big risk, Headmistress. Can he really be trusted?" Armando Dippett asked.

McGonagall surveyed the dead wizard for a moment, before a faint smile stretched onto her face. "Yes, Mr. Vulpin can be trusted. I saw it in his eyes."

Large pillows of smoke billowed into the sky as the scarlet and black engine lurched and began to roll forward. Departure bells ringing from the engine, followed by a loud shriek of the train's whistle scattered the remaining birds that had nestled on the platform as friends and family members waved goodbye to their loved ones in the windows of each carriage.

"Stop!" A voice cried out across the station platform. "Hold the bloody train!" Draco Malfoy rushed through the departing onlookers, crashing into some and rolling over their feet with his Hogwarts trunk. A series of cries and expletives hurled toward the back of the Slytherin as he raced toward a carriage. Heaving his trunk through the open doorway, he threw himself onto the carpeted steps just as the carriage rolled past the edge of the platform.

"Mr. Malfoy!" A woman shouted as Draco lay cradling his trunk and looking out the doorway at the passing city landscape. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Catching the train," Draco snarled, standing up and brushing the dirt from his freshly purchased traveling robe. "What else would I bloody well be doing like this?" He stretched his arms out to their full length, showing the witch the dirt on his robes, as if presenting an important piece of evidence to the Wizengamot.

"That is not proper behavior for a student of Hogwarts, and especially from someone who was a former prefect," Professor Vector scolded, wagging her finger.

"You try running across a platform, and jumping onto a moving train!" he shouted, pointing a finger at the teacher, and noticing a long tear along the seam of his robe. "Damn!" he muttered.

"That will be quite enough of your disrespectful language, Mr. Malfoy," the witch said. She withdrew her wand and pointed it at the young wizard. "Twenty points will be taken from Slytherin, and I hope for your sake that you use this experience as a lesson." A sharp flick of her wand and the sweat and dirt on the robes vanished, leaving Draco's face burning with embarrassment. "Now go and find a compartment to sit in!" She pointed as doors along the narrow corridor opened and heads turned to stare at the commotion.

Draco plodded down the tight passageway, staring at the grooves on the floor and pulling his trunk in his wake. He could sense dozens of eyes watching his every movement, and could hear hushed whispers coming from each compartment as he walked past. Door after door closed. He neared each one, only to have the window shade pulled down in front of his face. Finally, he came to the end of the carriage, turned in the narrow corridor, and stared at the Arithmancy professor who stood at the opposite end, her arms folded across her chest.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy?" she called.

The old bitch is enjoying every single second of this, he thought. Enjoy it, while it lasts.

Draco forced these thoughts from his mind, not wanting to cost his house any more points. "They're all taken, professor," he replied.

"You can share our compartment, Malfoy."

Draco whirled and stared into the face of the Gryffindor, before turning his gaze back to Professor Vector. The witch nodded her head, and flicked her wand, causing Draco's trunk to fly onto the overhead bin of the compartment.

"Fine," Draco groaned. "I knew this was a mistake."

"Hey, Carl."

"Janus." The Silver Wolf's doorman nodded a greeting and glanced up from the dog-eared paperback in his paws. His long ears swiveled so that they pointed in Janus' direction even as his eyes continued to scan the pages.

Janus pulled a photograph from the pocket of his duster and put it in front of the paperback. "You seen him?"

Carl traced the photograph with the tip of one claw and drew his eyebrows together. "Not lately. He came a few times, but I wouldn't call him a regular. Why? Is he the one we're after?"

"There is no 'we'!" Janus snapped. "He's the one I'm after. Phillipe Moreaux isn't some drunk with a bad attitude, and he isn't one of your paperback bad guys. He's the real deal."

Carl's lips pulled back, revealing a double row of gleaming white fangs. "Tawny and I have a wager—ten galleons to whoever gets him first. Do you want in?"

"Did you hear a damn thing I just…" Janus waved a hand and sighed. "Never mind. Is she here?"

"You're in luck. She's rehearsing." Carl pocketed his book and moved his stool aside, allowing Janus access to the door. As Janus started through the door, Carl stopped him with a claw on his shoulder. "You think he's coming back for Tawny?"

Janus shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. When Moreaux leaves a mess, he always leaves someone behind. He likes loose ends. But then sometimes he likes to give those ends a tug. He'll be in a bad mood real soon, and he'll be looking for someone to take it out on."

Inside, the Silver Wolf looked and smelled strangely clean, with upturned chairs on the tables and bright, unforgiving lights that showed every stain and scar on the floors. A rotund goblin perched on a chair at the base of the stage, watching a brown-plumed hawk preen itself. Music boomed from a speaker on the ceiling, a low flute melody with a soft drum beat.

At the sound of Janus' footsteps, the goblin hopped to his feet. "And just who do you think you…" He tilted his head to one side, narrowed his beady eyes, and smiled. "Never mind. This is good. You're human."

"Mostly."

"Good, good!" The goblin rubbed his hands together, grinning, and then gestured to the stage. "Most of my customers are human, mostly, too. You can tell me what a human thinks of the new show."

Outside the train compartment, hills rolled by like waves on a sea of green where sheep drifted like bits of sea foam. The majestic arches of an old stone bridge flashed into view for a moment, quickly replaced by a waterfall trickling down the side of a stony crag. Inside the train, a brunette student reached for a blond student's hand, found it, and squeezed. "I wasn't sure you'd come back."

"Of course I came back. Hogwarts is the best place for me." Their fingers rearranged, tangling and untangling until they were interlaced.

"I thought maybe after everything, you wouldn't want to be reminded. Sometimes I don't want to be reminded." The brunette sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning back against the padded headrest.

"Oh, but not being reminded makes it easier to forget, and I don't want to forget some things… like you." The two leaned toward one another and would have kissed if not for the obstacle between them, a potted plant that looked like a cactus covered in boils.

Draco groaned and made a gagging sound. Why did I have to be late to the bloody train? Why did I have to end up forced into a compartment with Loony-bloody-Lovegood and Neville Longbottom?

The sound seemed to remind the would-be lovebirds that Draco was there, and both turned to look at him. Neville flashed an ingratiating smile. "So Draco, what have you been doing?"

Draco searched Neville's face, from the vacant expression in those dopey-looking eyes to the slightly parted lips that displayed the gap in his teeth. He turned the question over in his mind, marveling at its exquisite stupidity. "Why should you care? It's not like it's important to you. Draco snorted while he continued to gaze into the passing greenery, watching trees, vast dales, winding streams, and rivers pass them by as the sun began to part through the clouds above.

What have I been doing?

A repressed memory floated to the surface. Flashes of pale skin, intimate warmth, and reflections from the shards of a broken mirror passed through Draco as the Slytherin leaned his head forward, allowing his forehead to rest on the cool glass pane.

"No, no!" Draco muttered, as he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and pounded his right fist onto his knee.

"Malfoy?" A warm hand on his shoulder followed the voice. Eyes flying open, Draco recoiled from the touch and drew further into the corner of the compartment, instinctively reaching for his wand.

"Oi! It's alright, Malfoy!" Neville said, drawing away from the Slytherin. "Luna and I thought you were having some sort of a fit is all."

Draco shook his head to clear the memory of Harry on his hands and knees, the heat of his body, and the way his muscles had tensed in anticipation. "I don't have bloody fits," he spat as his cheeks heated for the second time that day.

"About what you've been doing…it is important. At least it is to me," Neville commented, ignoring Draco's embarrassed state. "I mean he's dead now, isn't he?"

The image of Lucius' body in Moreaux's arms replaced that of his own face and Potter's reflected in the glass. The heat drained from his cheeks, replaced with cold rage. "Of course, he's dead! It's why I was late. Father would always arrange everything so that mother and I needn't worry about it."

"I read about your loss, Draco." Luna looked over the top of her upside down edition of The Quibbler. "I am very sorry, even if he was a Death Eater."

"I don't need your sympathy, Lovegood," Draco growled. "Or yours either, Longbottom."

Neville sighed loudly as Draco turned and gazed back out the compartment window. "I thought that everything was supposed to change after Voldemort was killed. I wasn't referring to your father, Malfoy. I know what it's like to lose a parent. It hurts. It feels like a pain that will never go away. But you can't hide behind being selfish. That only makes the pain worse."

Draco slowly turned his neck to gaze at the Gryffindor. "It's supposed to be a new beginning!" Neville continued, looking to Luna, who had dropped her reading into her lap and was now staring at Draco, her buggy eyes fixed on his. "A new beginning for all of us. Why else would we all be going back to Hogwarts?"

"I have my reasons," Draco said, curling his upper lip at Neville.

"You know, Draco, you have a lovely Blibbering Humdinger," Luna said dreamily as she eyed the Syltherin from head to toe before giving him a cheeky smile and then resuming her reading.

Several minutes of silence passed between the three of them as Draco gaped at the moving pictures of The Quibbler, unable to think of a proper retort. Neville glanced longingly at Luna and thoughtfully at Draco before looking down at the potted plant sitting beside him. His soft eyes aglow with excitement, Neville reached for the plant and held it forward for Draco to take. His hands trembled slightly, perhaps with excitement, or maybe because the pot was too heavy for his arms.

"Say, Draco, would you mind holding Bob?" balancing the pot on his knee with one hand, he patted one of the bulbous protuberances, eliciting a low crooning sound.

"Bob?" Draco repeated. "You named a stupid plant?"

"Oh, they aren't stupid!" Luna caressed the cactus absently. "It's just that they communicate at a different frequency. It's hard to hear, but if you're very still, you can make out the vibrations with your nose. He says that you look lonely, Draco. Either that or he's saying he's hungry. It's hard to tell, but he's very clever, really."

"You're both mental." Draco looked from Luna to Neville and then out the window.

Neville refused to take a hint. "It's just that Bob would fit better on your side, since Luna and I are sitting here together, and you're—"

"And I'm not sharing my seat with a bloody stupid plant!" His wand was in his hand, and the spell "incendio" left his mouth before he could stop himself.

One of the branches of the plant burst into flames, along with the seat cushion behind it. A dark green goo erupted from the boils of the undamaged portion of the plant, covering Draco, Neville, and Luna with a film that smelled like raw sewage. Neville gaped for a moment, his sagging mouth making him look even duller than usual. His face flushed, his lips drew together, and he drew his wand and stepped between Draco and the plant.

A stream of water began to pour from Luna's wand, dousing the flamesand washing the foul-smelling stuff onto the floor so that it soaked through Draco's shoes. "I told you Bob was clever."

"Tergeo!" Draco shouted. "Tergeo, tergeo, tergeo!" He waved his wand frantically, desperate to remove the smell.

The compartment door swung open admitting a witch with thin black hair and a scowl that could scare a horntail. "What, may I ask, is going on in here?"

"We have it under control now, Professor Vector." Luna gestured to the wet cushions and the charred cactus that was now making faint growling sounds.

Neville pointed his left index finger at Draco, still pointing his wand with his right hand. "He's insane!"

"The plant was commenting on things that were none of its business!" Draco snapped, reluctantly pocketing his wand. "And those two…" He jerked his chin toward Luna and Neville. "… they were holding hands like a couple of krups in heat!"

Professor Vector's scowl deepened. "No public displays of affection on school property. Detention for all of you."

"What did I do?" Draco demanded.

Neville laughed humorlessly. "What did you do? You nearly killed Bob with a burning spell, started the compartment on fire, and made the whole place smell like the Slytherin washroom!"

"It was the plant that made the smell, not me!" Draco sneered the potted green monster as it cooed under Luna's ministrations.

"I think you need to come with me, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Vector stepped back to allow him a clear passage through the doorway.

"Fine," Draco muttered, seizing the handle of his suitcase. When the old bat glared at him, he added, "Fine, Professor. I didn't want to ride with these two anyway."

As he stepped out of the compartment, he heard Luna say, "Bob wonders if detention will be fun."

Professor Vector marched Draco down the narrow corridor of the train, her hand pinching his shoulder as if he were a puppy she planned to pick up by the scruff of its neck. When they reached the far end of the train, she flung open a crowded compartment and shoved him and his case unceremoniously inside. The door closed with a thud, and Draco felt a surge of panic as he looked at the four familiar faces.

Blaise Zabini shared a bench with Millicent Bulstrode, although her hips were so wide they left almost no room for Blaise, who had to hold his luggage case on his lap. Opposite them were Pansy Parkinson and Imogen Stretton. Draco could have squeezed in beside the two girls, but instead of making way for him, they spread themselves out. Imogen had been holding a terrarium with a bearded lizard inside, but upon seeing Draco, she settled it on the bench next to her, while Pansy pulled her feet up onto the seat. Draco was forced to remain standing, his feet spread apart for balance as the train rocked or accelerated through a turn.

"You're in the wrong compartment. Harry Potter's friends are that way," Imogene commented, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "Or did the two of you have a lovers' spat?"

"Very funny!" he spat. "You're not saying Potter's here, are you?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Pansy made a face. "Not surprising, though. He probably loves all the attention. And it will give you two so much more time to spend together…"

"Bloody, conniving old battle-axe!" Draco hit the door of the compartment in frustration, sending a jolt of pain through his hand. "She told me he wouldn't be here."

The three Slytherins looked at Draco and then at each other. Pansy shook her head, Millicent giggled, while Blaise and Imogen waggled their eyebrows at one another. Draco narrowed his eyes at his three housemates. "If I had known he would be here, do you think for one minute I would be wallowing here in this useless, pretentious, cesspool of utter rubbish?"

"Wow, must have been a bad fight," Millicent commented. "I suppose Potter won. That's why you're in here with us?"

"Now," Blaise admonished. "We should show some sensitivity. Draco probably misses all of the tender embraces."

"Shut it!" Draco snapped. "It was my father's idea! He wanted me to… to pretend to befriend Potter."

Blaise scowled, Millicent gasped, and Pansy's eyebrows arched upward. "What for?" Blaise touched the back of his hand to his lips, as if to hold back vomit. "Was Lucius crazy?"

"No, you stupid prat!" Draco hissed. "He did it for the Malfoy family. What better ally to have than the one that destroyed the Dark Lord? When the world changes, you must be the first to adapt, or else you will be crushed." He glanced through the window of the compartment and saw Vector pacing back and forth, probably ready to grab him if he tried to bolt for another compartment. "So, I pretended to be his friend—"

"His special friend," Imogen interrupted.

"—his friend," Draco continued, "so he would speak for me at the trial. I had to be convincing at all costs. Any one of you would have done the same, unless you're even stupider than you look."

The four exchanged skeptical glances. Blaise shrugged and Imogen rolled her eyes, but Pansy looked thoughtful.

"Especially if you were heir to the Malfoy fortune," Draco added. "Maybe if you had as much to lose as I do, you'd understand something about self-preservation."

Blaise sat back, a smug smile forming across his lips. "And that's why your father is nowhere to be seen," he began. "Oh sure, The Prophet told us all about it, but there was no photo of a body, just you and Potter hugging in front of the Wizengamot." He puffed up his chest and smiled more broadly. "I think Lucius is too embarrassed because he's wants to snog Potter for himself. Why else would he have 'disappeared'?"

"How dare you say that, Zabini!" Draco hissed. His hands balled into fists as he shook with anger. "My father was-"

"I bet you like it when Potter takes off his 'proverbial pants'—" Imogen began. "He must have something really big and good down there to be able to have turned you into a Gryffindor love machine."

"Enough!" Pansy stomped her feet on the floor and gestured to Draco to sit down. Something had lit up in her eyes at the mention of the Malfoy fortune. She offered him a warm smile.

"Don't waste your time, Pansy," Blaise advised. "You're barking up the wrong tree."

Draco quickly sat down in the narrow space between Pansy and Imogen, noting that the latter put the terrarium back on her lap and squeezed herself against the far wall of the compartment to a avoid touching him. "You know he's wrong," he whispered in Pansy's ear. "Give me a chance to prove it."

Before she could reply, the train lurched to a halt. A green hatbox fell from an overhead compartment, landed on Draco's head, and spilled open, covering him in an array of lacy undergarments that must belong to Pansy or Imogen or—his stomach heaved at the thought—Millicent. As he batted the silken, perfumed things away, the other four Slytherins burst into fits of laughter.

"If you wanted to borrow a camisole, all you had to do was ask," Millicent said.

"I'm just glad it's not my underwear he's touching." Imogen shuddered theatrically. "Who knows where those hands have been?"

"I think Harry would like him best in the purple one," Blaise commented, and grinned. "Or maybe Lucius would like Potter in one of those!"

Owing to quickness from his Quidditch skills, Draco lurched toward Blaise, who was still laughing at Imogen's comment. Anger, frustration, and embarrassment flooded Draco's senses as he pinned Blaise against the window of the compartment with his forearm rammed against his opponent's throat, jamming his wand into his housemate's neck before any of the others could speak. Tiny sparks emitted from the tip of the wand and left small burns on Blaise's skin. Blaise's chest heaved as he struggled for air, making hoarse whimpering sounds. "As I was saying, you worthless excuse for a Slytherin," Draco hissed into the side of Blaise's face, "my father was murdered, right in front of me. If you ever say anything else about me or my family, you will be joining him and the Dark Lord in the afterlife!"

Draco felt the butt of his wand dig into the palm of his clenched hand, and he probably would have given his Slytherin housemate the same treatment as the unfortunate Bob if Pansy hadn't circled his wrist with her fingers. Her touch was light and cool. He loosened his grip on the wand, pocketed it, and circled her waist with his arm as he kicked one of Millicent's bras across the floor.

"Let's go, Pansy. I'd rather it were just the two of us."

The hawk raised a wing and continued to groom its feathers with its beak. Janus stifled a yawn. Motion at the far end of the stage caught his eye. A female lion swished her tail, rocking her hind quarters back and forth, her eyes fixed on the hawk. The cat leaped, her muscular thighs rippling and propelling her toward the bird. The hawk shrieked when caught, just as the drum-beat increased in tempo. The lion shook her head violently, and the bird's shriek ended. Instead of the hawk's corpse, the lion held the ruffled white shirt collar of a man who draped limply across her paws. He had olive skin, and the soft brown hair that spilled over his eyes matched the hawk's feathers. Dark leather pants covered his wiry, powerful legs. The lion opened her mouth and swatted at her prey as if bored with it. The man sprung to his feet and leaped back with a dancer's grace and a look of feigned surprise.

The two circled each other like boxers, the lion lashing its tail. The man struck first, grabbing the cat by the throat, but his hands closed around the neck of a blond woman in a flowing red dress. Her hands covered his, moving them from her neck to her hips, and the two began to dance. Tawny spun in and out of the man's arms, losing the red dress somewhere along with way. Wearing nothing but a jeweled harness that avoided nudity in the most technical sense only, she tugged at the man's white silk shirt and spun away with it. Her new partner was slim, but fully mature, maybe twenty five years old, Janus guessed. Although not much taller than Tawny, he lifted her easily over his head and spun in circles displaying his own broad shoulders and strong chest as well as the graceful lines of her body. Janus' hands went to the front of the duster, undoing the buttons so that the coat fell open and let in the relatively cool air of the room.

A sharp jab in Janus' side pulled his attention away from the pair. "Do you find this exciting?" the goblin asked.

"It's… nice," Janus murmured, watching Tawny's partner bend her backwards in a pose that would have looked more natural had she still been a lion. "Where'd you get him?"

The goblin grinned. "A little Spanish prison. Our friends on the continent don't care much for unregistered animagi either, but with the right incentive…" He jingled the coins in his pocket.

The music rose to a crescendo. Tawny embraced the man, but the hawk slipped through her hands, which became claws. The lion snatched at the hawk's tail, snapping with her teeth. A few feathers spiraled to the floor as the hawk flew from the stage to land in front of the goblin.

"I cannot work with her!" the man snapped, rubbing ostentatiously at the back of the leather pants.

The music having ended, the lion stretched out on the stage, lifted one back paw high in the air, and began grooming under her tail with her tongue, oblivious to her partner's protest.

"She tries to kill me!" the man continued.

"Then I can put you back where I found you." The goblin shrugged.

"That would be a damn shame," Janus observed. The male animagus looked even more appealing up close. Damp locks of wavy brown hair clung to a high forehead with a strong brow. The narrow nose above his perfectly-formed lips had the faintest suggestion of a hook, enough to remind Janus that the man was a real person and not a marble sculpture come to life. "Janus," Janus extended his hand, which the man took in a brief, firm grip.

"Talon," the animagus replied.

"Nice. Nice stage name, that is." Without looking away from Talon, Janus drew the picture of Phillipe Moreaux out of his pocket and showed it to the goblin and the performer. "Either of you seen him?"

Both shook their heads, and the goblin scowled. "Is that the man who cost me my last asset?"

"If by 'asset' you mean the girl he gutted in the alley, then yeah, that's him." Janus tapped the picture while looking Talon in the eyes. "He's the scum who killed your predecessor. I'd be a lot more afraid of him than I would of Tawny, if I were you."

"You're ministry?" the goblin asked. His clawed hands came together in front of his paunch, and his eyes darted as if seeking an exit.

"Not exactly. I'm a friend of Tawny's. She and I both have unfinished business with Moreaux."

Talon tossed his head so that the locks of hair fell away from his face. He flicked the picture dismissively and snorted. "I'd like to see him try to come after me!" His fists flexed, doing interesting things to his biceps and forearms.

"You'll lose a lot more than a few tail feathers," Janus warned him. He lifted his shirt, exposing the scars that marred his own chest. Talon's eyes widened in horror. No one would want to watch you dance with Tawny if you looked like me, would they? Janus glanced first at the goblin, then the animagus. "You watch your assets, and you watch your ass. And Tawny's."

Leaving the goblin and his employee to argue about gold, prisons, and Tawny's teeth, Janus approached the stage, where Tawny had finished cleaning her lower body and now chewed delicately on one front paw.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

The lion raised her head and twitched her ears attentively.

"Alone?"

Tawny bounded from the stage. Without bothering to look back at him, she sauntered down the corridor, her black-tipped tail waving like a flag. With more dexterity than a lion should have, she pawed open the door to her dressing room, and he followed her inside.

"I have something for you." He felt in his pocket, wincing when he fingers closed around the sharp part of the object in it.

Tawny sat back on her haunches and twitched her round ears.

"Something to put in your hand! Damn it, Tawny! I won't have this conversation with a damn cat." His hand clenched, and the item bit into the lower part of his thumb.

"Fine." Tawny stood up from her crouch, the fur replaced with pale skin still covered only by the jeweled harness. It consisted of two narrow, studded straps that went over her shoulders and down the middle of each breast. The two straps met between her legs, providing token cover. A fine gold chain that Janus could easily snap with his hands circled her waist, linking the straps together.

Janus swallowed hard, forcing images of Talon's hands on Tawny's body out of his mind. He snatched a fluffy white bath robe from a peg on the wall and threw it at her.

After shrugging into the robe, she doubled over, coughing until a wet, brown lump of feathers came up in her hand. She grimaced and wiped her hand on the front of the robe.

"You should take it easy on Talon," Janus commented.

"Why?"

"For starters, there's a shortage of perfect asses in the world. It'd be a shame to ruin his."

Tawny twirled one of the feathers in between her thumb and forefinger. "I didn't ask for a new partner!"

"He's—"

"'Nice'. I know. I heard you. Pervert."

Janus sighed. "I was going to say he's not replacing Jett."

"I know." Tawny closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "I wasn't really trying to eat him. It's part of the act. I just… lose myself sometimes."

"Preachin' to the choir," Janus said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the object that had dug into his hand. Careful to orient the sharp part up, he placed it in Tawny's palm and closed her fingers around it.

When she opened her fingers, she made a surprised sound somewhere between a sob and a squeal. She held up the silver, sequined earring and looked from it to Janus and back. "It was Jett's. I have the other one! Where did you get it?"

"From Moreaux. He doesn't deserve to have a piece of her. And before you ask, yes, he's alive and kicking, and no, I don't know where he is."

"It's not all you took from him." After placing the earring on her dressing table, she ran a finger down Janus' chest, pausing over his heart. "I saw you show your scars to Talon."

"It doesn't matter. I'm just sorry I couldn't finish the job."

"Maybe you need help." She squared her shoulders and let her hands fall to her side, as if standing at attention.

"Maybe." He agreed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep his face impassive as a battle raged in his head. The animal part of him was willing to let Tawny, Talon, their goblin boss, and anyone else get caught in the crossfire if it meant taking down Moreaux. Or was that the calculating part of him, the human part? Was it the beast that kept replaying Talon and Tawny's dance, the beast that kept thinking Tawny's harness would be handy for lifting her a few inches in the air with her back against the wall?

"Your eyes…" Tawny began.

He ignored that and settled the debate in his head, deciding on what Remus would have done. Remus would have protected innocents before going for revenge. "You know if Moreaux comes after you, it'll probably be in the next few days. Most of his kills happen when he's close to the change. Being trapped on the cusp—it's worse than the change itself. It's like having a voice in your head and something trying to crawl out of your skin at the same time. But the things the voice is telling you to do, some of them are things you want to do. There are folks you want to kill and some you want to…" He closed his eyes, squeezing out memories of Draco and Harry, respectively.

"You sound like you feel sorry for him!" Tawny spat.

"I understand him. There's a difference. You did know about him, didn't you?"

"That he's a moon-mutt? Of course. I do have a nose." She wrinkled her nose and made a face as if she'd tasted something bad. "And I know about you, not that I care. You don't smell as bad."

"That's because I'm not. Like I said, if he comes after you, it'll be in the next few days. I have a safe place, a house where Moreaux wouldn't find us. I want you and Talon to come with me."

She smirked slightly when he mentioned Talon and then turned thoughtful, looking down at the earring on her dressing table.

"Tawny?" he prompted.

She frowned. "I'm trying to think what Jett would say. I think, she'd…" She fingered the earning. "If this were mine, and she were here, she'd wonder if Moreaux gave it to you."

"I showed you my scars!" he protested.

She tilted her head from side to side, pondering. "You might have had those before."

Janus sighed. "You're a cat, for God's sake! Do I smell like I'm lying?"

She put her hands on his shoulders, and they became heavy paws. Her golden eyes widened, along with her mouth, which sprouted dagger-like fangs. Her triangular pink nose twitched, making her whiskers quiver. When she backed away, she was a woman again. "You smell like a man with impure motives."

He laughed. "Aww. That's cute. You of all people, you still think there's such a thing as a man with pure motives. Look, you'll be safe from Moreaux. You and Talon both."

"And safe from you?" she smirked.

He shrugged. "Safe enough. I won't make promises I can't keep."

"I don't care about being safe. Take Talon if you want. If you think Moreaux might be here soon, then I will be, too."

"Then you're bait."

"Good. Traps need bait." Her hand closed around the earring.

"Then I'm the trap. I'll be here this time of the month, every month, unless I hear Moreaux is somewhere else. And one more thing. Jett's earring is a port key, and it's tuned to fear. If Moreaux shows up when I'm not here, you grab Talon, you grab that, and you'll be in my office."

She nodded, turning the object over in her hand. "I'm not afraid of Moreaux. Just… if he… if I… Just don't let him take anything of mine, ok?"

"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on letting him live."

The sun slipped past the horizon, casting its final rays upon the ocean waters. Flashes of pink and yellow mixed with the darkening blue of the sea, as if trying to stave off the impending darkness.

Dark clouds raced across the sky, swirling and colliding in humid pile ups while the distant sound of thunder echoed like an oncoming pack of hounds. A gale blew inland, cutting across the chopping waves and making its way into the abandoned tower. The breeze ruffled the wizard's black robes while he stoodin the window admiring the scene like a painter would watch his masterpiece dry.

A soft moan caught the wizard's attention. A pale specter emerged from the wall and wafted through the room. Stepping out of the ghost's way, the wizard watched as the image floated past, noting the gruesome means by which the man had met his demise.

"So, the legends are true," he stated, watching the figure slip into the stone wall and disappear. "How interesting." Slipping his hands together and pressing them against his lower back, the wizard turned back to the window and stared out into the evening sky. He was as solemn as a statue with the exception of his left index finger which tapped against his right wrist as if keeping time.

Soon thereafter he sensed a presence at the base of the winding rock stairs the led up into the flicked his finger toward the unlit torch hanging upon the far wall, and a flame erupted into the base, bathing the small room with a soft, fiery glow. A wry smile formed upon the wizard's face. The guest that he had been expecting had finally arrived.

Phillipe Moreaux gazed upward at the tall, stone tower while his senses adjusted to his new surroundings. His sensitive nose filled with the smell of salt from the seawater and the essence ofrotting fish nearby. His recently healed wrist throbbed in the humid air.

"I hate the bloody ocean," he grumbled, staring out at the water before looking at the stone step that would lead him to his destination. "Give me the mountains and the fresh game there, anytime."

He placed his black boot on the first stone step and swore in anticipation of climbing the stairs. Before his fight with Janus, he would have bounded up the steps two at a time, dismissing any man who couldn't as unfit to live. Now, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the climb. Inside the square tower he went, slowly making his way up to the room at the top of the stairs. Each step brought a dull pain where his own medieval device had impaled his chest. The wound had healed badly, oozing a variety of sickly fluids before settling into a state of puffy, red agony.

"If he's still alive, I'll find him," Phillipe spat, taking another painful step. "And when I do, there won't be any teasing or toying with him, I'll make it…"

The words trailed off as a ghostly image drifted toward Phillipe. "What the?" He paused, studying the specter in the dimly torch-lit tower.

The glow from the torches gave the Nordic ghost an eerie glow that accentuated the area where the warrior had received his death blow. "Damn, mate!" Phillipe exclaimed, "You got it good, didn't ya?" The spirit hovered closer almost as if flaunting its own demise.

A low whistle escaped Phillipe's lips as he reached forward and into the ghost's wound, slowly drawing his finger along the blade that had lodged itself in the man's eye. A chill of morbid excitement coursed through Phillipe as his finger tapped the tip of the blade, eliciting a low moan from the dead Nordic, and causing the spirit to float away from Phillipe and into another part of the tower. Phillipe began to ascend once more, ignoring the ache from his body. His face contorted into a malicious grin as his thoughts traveled to Janus, and how that man would die.

Phillipe heaved as he conquered the last stone step. His chest rose and fell while beads of sweat trickled down his face and neck, saturating his dingy shirt collar. With a deep breath to clear his tired muscles and to focus his mind, Phillipe turned from the steps toward the door that was left slightly ajar. A soft glow emanated from around the edges of the door frame as Phillipe edged closer, laying a large hand softly upon the wood.

"Enter." A voice came from inside the room.

Phillipe pushed the door open further, entered the room, and took in his surroundings. A single torch hung on the gray stone wall, illuminating the room's only furnishing, a stone chair that faced away from Phillipe and towards a small, cross-shaped window. The flickering torchlight threw the shadow of the chair and its occupant onto the far wall, superimposing a dark silhouette upon the faded banner that hung there.

"You're late," the man said as another breeze from the ocean blew into the room, bringing with it the varietalessence of salt and fish. Phillipe gagged at the smell. "I could smell your foul stench once you apparated onto the grounds," the wizard stated. His voice echoed from the stone walls and floor so that Phillipe could hear him clearly even though he faced away.

Lowering his chin, Phillipe inhaled deeply, relishing his own smell of smoke, dirt, and dried blood as it overpowered the miasma of the ocean. "What's wrong with the way I smell?"

The man tapped a gloved finger on the arm of the chair as Phillipe stepped further into the room and came to rest behind the stone chair. "Why the bloody hell did you have to pick this place?" Phillipe asked, placing his hand over his nose and mouth.

"This place has a rather special meaning," the man said, stopping the tapping of his finger. "Report."

"All has gone according to your plan," Phillipe began. "Sir," he included after a moment's pause.

"The business at the Ministry?"

"Accomplished." Phillipe stated as a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and tickled his nose.

"Completely?"

"Exactly as you ordered." Phillipe scowled, chaffing at the missed opportunity to kill Potter and his insipid little plaything.

The gloved hand clenched into a fist and pounded on the arm of the stone chair. "No. Not exactly as I had ordered."

Phillipe swiped at the bead of sweat that toyed with his nostril. "I had some personal business to attend to. My…" Phillipe's mind searched for the correct word to describe Janus.

"Personal business?" The wizard stood and whirled to face Phillipe. A heavy hood obscured the man's features so that all Phillipe could see were his eyes glittering in the torchlight. "Your time is mine! You have no 'personal businesses'."

Instantly, Phillipe was lifted into the air by invisible hands and dropped into the stone chair, banging the back of his head on the rock and causing the pain to flare up again within his chest. Loops of solid rock came to life from the chair, and Phillipe found his chest, arms, and legs bound to the hard surface.

Momentarily dazed, Phillipe grunted and tried to break through the rock, while the wizard stared down at him. "Do not tax yourself. You cannot break those bonds."

Phillipe snapped his jaws toward the man, his muscles bunching in a futile attempt to lunge from the chair.

"Always so impetuous," the wizard stated, turning his back to Phillipe.

Seeing that there was no escape from his current situation, Phillipe angrily sighed, resigned to wait until his host released him from the stone bindings.

"I summoned you days ago. Why are you late?"

"I came across a threat to your plans," Phillipe said, straining against the rock. "He's an outsider. No one you would know."

"Continue." The wizard relaxed his stance and continued to gaze out the window.

"He's an old …associate of mine," Phillipe stated, gasping at the pain that had now bloomed in his chest from the pressure of his stone manacles. "He got onto my scent, and I had to take care of him before he got in the way. I set a trap.

"This is the 'personal business' you spoke of?"

"Yeah."

"And it is the reason why you did not feel the burning of your summons upon your skin?"

"Well…" Phillipe began. His mind raced for an appropriate half-truth.

"You let him get the better of you?" The wizard asked turning toward Phillipe.

"Oh, no! I got him. He's as good as dead now." Phillipe smirked.

"The proof?"

"No man could live through what I did to him."

"And you saw him die?"

Phillipe shook his head, not daring to risk an outright lie.

The wizard turned back around, clasped his gloved hands behind his back, and began to tap his finger upon his wrist. "Then the man is not yet dead."

"Bloody impossible!" Phillipe rasped. "Just because I didn't kill-"

"You failed to kill." The words hung in the air over Phillipe, as if they were daggers about to plunge from above. "You…failed."

"Release me from these bloody things, and I will explain it all!" Phillipe snarled.

"There is no explanation," the voice hissed from under the cowl of the robe.

"I had him, dead to rights!" Phillipe snarled. "He got in a lucky last shot, that's all."

The wizard turned slowly on the spot and prodded Phillipe with the tip of his wand, opening the collar of his shirt and tracing the top of the still-inflamed wound. "Does this…associate have a name?"

"He calls himself Janus. Brown hair, hazel eyes, a bloody American." Phillipe could feel his eyes wanting to falter under the intense stare from the wizard, but he refused to give in.

"And how do you know this person?"

Phillipe felt a surge of rage. Little Jamie Ward had been a mistake, a rare indulgence in sentimentality, and having that confession dragged from his mouth would be like having his body dragged over hot coals. "You're a bloody legilimens, aren't you?"

"Indeed," the wizard said, locking his eyes with Phillipe's before looking toward the tattered banner. "He is a part of you. Never fear. Disappointing progeny have a way of cropping up when they are least wanted." He lightly stroked the banner, letting the material flow upon the ridges of his fingertips. "Your paths will cross again." He let go of the fabric, and walked back to the window. "However, you still have failed to answer my question in full. I know that you have been playing all sides."

"Only under your orders, Sir." Phillipe felt another trickle of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

"I did not order you to bargain a deal with the Minister; just as I did not order you to kill the animagus. You've been busy collecting gold at every opportunity while manipulating, lying and killing just to satisfy your own needs…." Phillipe felt his bindings cut deeper into his flesh. "…while at every turn playing dangerously."

"You're too much concerned with your plan," Phillipe replied, trying to wave his hand as if swatting away a fly. "It will be fulfilled. Can't a man have a taste of the old days and make a profit at the same time?"

"Be wary, and remember."

"Remember what?" Phillipe growled.

"Earlier, you asked me about this place," the wizard stated, raising his gloved hands outward toward both walls.

"And?"

"This place is of historical significance and carries a bit of sentimental honor with me. Centuries ago, this area was home to a thriving village, which was attacked by Nordic warriors." The wizard walked forward, placing his gloved hands on the window ledge.

"Many of the village settlers perished in the battle, including women and children. A few of the village men were able to capture or slay a number of the invading warriors as the Northern Army came to aid the villagers, but only after the fight was over. The villagers took their anger out on the wounded fighters.

"They hauled them up the stone steps by their hair, allowing their heads and bodies to collide with each stone step. Then, they brought the warrior to this room, bound him to the chair, as you are now, and allowed the wounded man to sit here for days.

"The Nordic warrior could only look out this small window at the ocean, hoping to see once again the sails of his fellow warriors' ships. It was torture, you see. The warrior would have no honor in death because he had failed in battle.

"Finally the villagers would come into the room with a freshly honed blade. They would exact a token of revenge. The tip of the blade would be pushed slowly into the warrior's eye."

Phillipe looked down at the floor, envisioning fresh pools of blood and debris from the dead warriors. If he weren't in the chair himself, he would have appreciated the artistry.

"Then the blade would be extended further into the eye socket until it broke through the back of the skull. The result was not always instant death. Sometimes, the warrior could continue to see out of his remaining eye. The legend states that the villagers wanted the warrior to see death coming for him."

"A charming bedtime story," Phillipe said, affecting a yawn. "The point to all of this?"

"Fail me again, and you will suffer the warrior's same fate." The wizard stated, turning around, and walking toward Phillipe.

The wizard waved his hand, releasing the bonds that held Phillipe. The large man jumped out of the chair. "You think your magic tricks and children's stories will scare me?"

"Remember..." the wizard started but was cut off by Phillipe.

"Yeah, I remember. We had an agreement, but what's keeping me from breaking that agreement right now? Who's to say that I won't just rip your throat out, here and now, and go on about my way?" His right hand closed around his wand as the blood rushed back into his limbs. He wouldn't be caught off guard again.

"Impulsive fool! Remember the unbreakable vow. You were eager enough to make it when we began this endeavor. Or were you dazzled by the shiny galleons?""

Phillipe snorted. "Bollocks to your bloody vow!"

A wry smile toyed with the wizard's lips. "You want to rip me apart, don't you? Tear into my flesh and drink of my blood. Yes, I sense that you are on the cusp. It is almost time for your changing to occur, when your blood thirst will be at its zenith."

Phillipe licked his dry lips as he imagined tearing into the wizard, ripping his flesh from his bones and feeling the man's hot blood on his tongue.

"Do not fight what you are. Give in to your urges," the wizard taunted.

Phillipe snarled with rage and bloodlust as all semblance of a rational man left his brain, only to be replaced by that primitive nature that called for blood. He leaped forward, the silver dagger from his hidden sheath gleaming in the torchlight. He shouted while bringing the dagger forward to slice the wizard's neck open.

Just as the blade was about to touch the wizard's flesh, a loud sizzle filled the room. Tiny sparks erupted from Phillipe's arms, and he dropped his knife and howled with pain. The shocking sensation spread through his body as small burn marks began to appear across his arms. Phillipe frantically rubbed at his arms and body, cursing and whirling in circles, desperate to stop the painful sensations upon his skin. Finally, exhausted from the agony, Phillipe fell into the stone chair and slumped there, wincing as the aftershocks ravaged his body.

The wizard stood in front of Phillipe, smirking. "Now, you remember. However, just in case you forget once more…"

A dazzling red light engulfed Phillipe, causing all of his muscles to stiffen as every fiber of his body seemed to burn. He felt his feet lift from the floor as the power of the curse carried him into the air. Struggling to overpower the curse, Phillipe screamed while his body failed him. Finally, the curse ended, and he fell back into the hard, stone chair. The hooded wizard loomed over Phillipe.

Phillipe cursed and struggled to his feet, his body reeling.

"Now, do we have a full understanding?"

Straining to regain his full height, Phillipe began to answer the wizard. "I…"

His answer was cut short by a bright object shooting through the cross-shaped window. The circular blue and white mist raced in circles, extinguishing the torch and plunging the room into darkness.

Both men watched as the item slowed, and then hovered over the arm of the stone chair. The object emitted a brilliant flash of light as it transformed into a new shape. Phillipe rubbed his eyes, wiping away the stars that had flashed before his vision, and now focused on the shape that glowed in front of him.

The raven patronus pecked at the arm of the chair, as if searching for food. Phillipe continued to eye the bird as it squawked, and leapt to the top of the chair. The raven quickly tilted its head around in all directions, scanning the room before turning a black eye to the hooded wizard. Once more the patronus squawked and hopped on the back of the chair, before taking flight around the room again, and landing on the edge of the window.

"You are correct, master," a high pitched voice came from the raven. "Hogwarts."

A contented sigh emanated from the hooded wizard while he strode toward the patronus. "You've done well, my scavenger," he said, lightly touching the raven. The bird gave a cry that pierced through the night, before turning into a blue and white flame and disappearing.

The torch on the wall erupted once more. Phillipe continued to stare at the spot where the patronus had disappeared. "You must have deep pockets," he said, as the wizard gazed beyond the window.

"I have others that are willing to do what I say."

Phillipe scoffed. "So why do you need me?" He watched as the hood slightly turned in his direction.

"Because every so often, a-how would someone like you put it?-a…trigger needs to be pulled. You are my trigger-man."

"You mean I'm the man for all of your dirty jobs."

"However you prefer to describe yourself." The wizard shrugged and turned his back to Phillipe. "Just remember how critical you are to my plans. Do not forget the promise that I made to you. When our agreement is complete..."

Phillipe's pulse increased, his eyes widened, and he stepped toward the hooded figure, holding his hand out as if begging for a prize. "The power?"

A soft chuckle escaped the black cloak as the man nodded his head. "Yes, the knowledge and power to make you master of your domain."

A large grin slide onto Phillipe's face at these words. "I will double my efforts, Sir."

"I know that you will," the voice hissed, as the hood nodded again.

"With your orders, sir, I would like to set another trap for Janus."

A gloved hand lifted into the air. "No."

"Why not?" Phillipe growled.

"Patience is power." The wizard lowered his hand and placed it behind his back. "In time, your…apprentice will come to you."

"When?" Phillipe barked.

"When things reach their logical conclusion."

"I don't like waiting!" Phillipe spat. "I'd rather attack."

"If you attack now, you will be of no use to my plans." The hooded wizard balled his gloved hand into a fist. "The patronus was a signal from my inside man at Hogwarts. When the time is right, you will have your opportunity to dispose of your scion, along with Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

Phillipe scratched the heavy stubble on his face with a long, stained fingernail. "If Janus were to attack me, surely you wouldn't object to me defending myself?"

"If you were stupid enough to allow such a thing to happen, I would expect you to correct your mistake." The wizard waved a hand dismissively. "I have another assignment for you. One that I believe you will personally enjoy." Reaching into his robes, the hooded wizard pulled out a small slip of parchment and then handed it to Phillipe. "For now, rest and recover. Then when the dragon on your wrist breathes fire, you will complete that which I have ordered.

Phillipe scanned the parchment, his tongue wetting his dry lips with eager anticipation. "As you wish," he replied, walking over to the torch, and letting the corner of the parchment catch fire. He held the slip of fire in his hand until the flames touched his skin, then balled his fist, extinguishing the fire, and dropping the ash onto the stone floor.

"And so it begins," the hooded man stated as a jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half. "The storm is here."

END OF CHAPTER 39

Author's Note: I would like to take a moment to thank all of the readers who have read this chapter. Eris and I are back at work on the story and we hope to be able to provide all of you, a wonderful and fulfilling reading enjoyment. So until Chapter 40, on behalf of Eris, I bid you all a wonderful read, and an ever greater day.


	40. No Longer Will We Cower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is Chapter 40. A slight delay, but two chapters became written instead of just one. Eris and I do hope that everyone enjoys reading the chapter, and many thanks for your comments and kudos.

CHAPTER 40: No Longer Will We Cower

 

White candles dotted the black canvas sky overhead as the students stood in line waiting for their names to be called. The young boy gazed upward in awe at the mystique above him, while other young girls and boys around him chatted nervously. He focused beyond the shimmering candles, staring at a cluster of stars shining in the distance. 

“Perseus,” the young boy whispered. Feeling a small push at his back, the young boy stepped forward without looking away from the celestial heaven. “The hero,” he said, bringing his hand up and tracing the outline of the stars above him. 

A thunderous sound shook the room, causing the young boy to scan the sky above for the thunderclap and bringing him back to the present. He yanked his hand from above him, ignoring a few snickers from the people around him. The booming applause quieted as a young girl jumped out of the chair and gaily walked to the table, where her new house members stood to greet her. 

“Shacklebolt, Kingsley,” the old woman in the black, pointed hat called out. The young boy took a few steps forward, slightly shaking with nervous anticipation. Halfway to the chair, he gazed back up at the night sky. He smiled as the stars twinkled, renewing his confidence, and he continued toward the chair and the old hat. 

“It’s quite alright, son.” The old woman smiled at him as he approached. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Take your seat.” She ushered him into the chair, lightly patting his small shoulder. 

He sat in the chair, gazing out at the room. Having everyone staring at him was almost too much. His hands gripped the edges of the wooden chair, and found the small grooves where past students had clawed their fingernails into the same wood. Tilting his head back one last time, the young boy glanced back into the sky above and found his comfort before the world turned to black.

The hero.

“The hero, you say?” A voice whispered into his ears from the darkness. “My, yes, you can be the hero, but you have so much more. Bravery, courage, daring, intelligent, and generosity--they are all there. Hmm…you have the ability to avoid danger, and your mind is strong...very strong indeed. But, you are also curious. You want to know how and why everything is as it is. You want to know about the unknown. I sense much cunning about you, young man, and a desire to be powerful. It’s all in there for you to decide. So many decisions, so many choices, so many possibilities. Will you be heroic or cerebral? Perhaps something more, or something less.”  
“Hero, please,” the young boy pleaded, closing his eyes to the voice.  
“A hero you will be.” The voice paused. “For whom, and for which cause, will be your destiny and your downfall. Your future will be…”

\--------------------------------------------------------------

“Kingsley.” The voice echoed in the darkness. “Shacklebolt.” 

“The hero.” A deep voice whispered softly. Bright flashes of light danced from above, while images of stars, candles, darkness, and innocence all flooded back.   
“Minister.” 

“Yes?” Kingsley said, breaking his memories free from the mixture of darkness and the exploding nova of starlight. Rubbing his eyes, Kingsley blinked his eyes a few times and then turned to the large mountain of a man beside him.

“I said it’s amazing isn’t it?” Hagrid asked, waving a frying-pan sized hand at the sky above. “No matter how many times I see it, it always manages to get me right there.” He thumped his chest with his fist, sniffled, and blew loudly into his oversized handkerchief.

“Yes, it is Hagrid,” Kingsley replied, looking up at the starry sky in the Great Hall. His memory lingered for a moment more while he looked out at the four tables and saw himself as an eleven-year-old boy, many years ago.

“Hello, Minister.” A familiar voice spoke as Kingsley silently said goodbye to the memory. Turning in his chair, Kingsley was greeted by a middle-aged man dressed in patched-up ceremonial robes. “It’s nice of you to be here tonight.”

He smiled, rising from his chair, and taking the man’s hand in a firm grasp. “Arthur,” he replied, pumping the man’s hand and patting him across shoulder. “I’m so pleased for you, and for your family.” 

A small twitch toyed with Arthur’s lips. “Thank you, Minister.” He replied, squeezing the man’s hand as hard as he could before letting go. “I do hope that my sudden notice at the Ministry wasn’t too rash?”

Kingsley waved a large hand in front of his face, as if lazily swatting at a fly. “Think nothing of it, Arthur. I know that when opportunities such as this come along, it’s difficult to say ‘no’,” Kingsley said, stretching his hands outward. 

“So true, Minister,” Arthur replied. “I was very surprised that the headmistress selected me of all people.” 

The Minister smiled. “Well, you do have a knack for that.” He took his seat once again, and glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Arthur.”

“W-worry, sir?” Arthur mumbled, taking his glasses off and wiping them with the edge of his robe.

“We’ve known one another for a long time. I know how you are, Arthur.”

“I don’t follow, Minister.”

“I’m fine with you leaving your post at the Ministry. Whatever you have to do to help better care for your family, I am all for. You made the right choice, for your family’s greater good, old friend.” Kingsley turned in his chair, leaving Arthur Weasley there to interpret the words. 

The new headmistress of Hogwarts walked up the steps to the staff table and sat down to Kingsley’s right. “Thank you, Minister, for coming tonight.”

“Minerva, I wouldn’t have missed this night for anything,” he smiled, looking past the headmistress and at the small piece of parchment that sat in the unoccupied chair. 

“Of course, you do remember how the process will go tonight?” McGonagall asked, drawing Kingsley’s focus away from the name on the parchment. 

“Yes, I’m pretty sure that it hasn’t changed much through the years. Missing someone, are we?” He nodded toward the empty staff chair.

“You know the answer to that, Minister,” she replied tartly. Quickly, she forced a half-smile upon her face. “Now, do you wish to say a few words tonight, Minister?” 

Kingsley took a long drink from the glass that was in front of him. He finished the drink in the glass, sat the empty container down, and watched as it filled again. He smiled at the glass. “Yes, I would like to say a few words tonight. I think it would be appropriate.” 

He watched as McGonagall nodded. “Very well. After the feast, I shall say a few words and introduce you. The floor will then be yours. Now, please excuse me, I must go and wait for the first years outside.” 

Kingsley watched as she exited. He then turned his attention up to the ceiling of the Great Hall. Looking past the hundreds of candles that hovered above them, he stared at the black sky, just as he had many years ago as a young boy. “The hero,” he said, as the bright full moon shined through the passing clouds.

\--------------------------------------

“It looks exactly the same,” Ron said, opening the window of the carriage, and gazing at the glowing lights of Hogwarts Castle. 

“Of course it does, Ron,” Hermione said, turning around in her seat and looking at him. “You didn’t think that they would change anything, did you?”

Ron’s brow furrowed as he stared at the castle. “I dunno. I thought that they might do something a little bit different.”

“Don’t be silly,” she replied, letting her fingers glide across his. “Though I’m amazed that they were able to repair everything and still be able to open as quickly as they have.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I suppose you’re right, ‘Mione. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry sat silently and swayed with the motion of the thestral-driven carriage. He stared at the looming figure of Hogwarts Castle, while haunting memories erupted in his mind. The images from his nightmares over the summer rushed to the front of his mind, combined with what he recalled from the battle at Hogwarts.

“Harry?” Hermione called, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all different now. It’s not the same anymore,” Harry said. He exhaled deeply, breaking his gaze away from the castle and looking back at his friends. “It’s like part of me needs to be here, but another part of me doesn’t.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione replied, placing her hand over his. “I know it’s difficult for all of us. We all must continue and go forward. It’s what they would want us to do.”

“I know. But, it’s not fair that so many had to die, and now it’s as if nothing ever happened here.” Harry took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. He placed his glasses back on and refocused his eyes on Ron and Hermione. “It’s like re-opening an old wound.”

“Maybe our old wounds teach us something. They remind us of what we’ve overcome.” Hermione rubbed the hem of her robe between her fingers. “Maybe it was fate’s plan for us to be here, to pick up where the others left off. That was their sacrifice for us, and for generations yet to come.” 

Harry looked away from Hermione, stealing a glance at the castle, while allowing the words to soak into his brain. “Fate’s plan.” The words escaped his lips louder than what he had anticipated. 

“Yes,” Hermione answered. “Just like with you and Voldemort. Harry, please don’t brood on too much about it all. We have a second chance that many people will not get.” 

Harry looked up from his own thoughts and gazed at his two best friends. “You’re right Hermione. It’s just so many memories that it’s hard not to think about them.” He exhaled deeply, his breath fogging the window as he looked out at the approaching grounds. He wiped the moisture away with the sleeve of his robe. “I will admit that I have missed this place. It feels almost like home.”

“Yeah, and with better fortifications now,” Ron piped in. “That’s what Dad said. The Ministry worked around the clock for the whole summer to restore Hogwarts.”

“But without Dumbledore…” Harry began.

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “Dumbledore will always be a part of Hogwarts.” She bit her lower lip before continuing. “Harry, please remember the reason why you came back to Hogwarts?”

The road to truths.

“Yeah, I know why I’m returning.” Harry gazed back out the window at the castle.

“Well, at least it will be more comfortable sleeping in a warm bed and eating all of that good food. It beats sleeping out in the middle of the forest,” Ron said, smiling.

“Ronald Weasley, don’t you do go and take advantage of the house elves!” Hermione punched him in his arm. “Just because those poor things are so generous and don’t know how to say ‘no’.”

“Alright. Easy, ‘Mione.” He grabbed her fists and softly kissed her hands. “I promise you that I won’t raid the kitchens, like Fred and George did.”

“Ok, Ron. But, if you do, remember the birds. That’s all that I am saying,” Hermione chided, pulling her hands free from Ron and crossing her arms.

“Hermione, that’s not fair!” Ron shouted. 

“All’s fair in love, war, and S.P.E.W.,” Hermione sassed, smiling at Ron. She turned her attention toward Harry. “Who do you think McGonagall found to teach this year?”

Harry exhaled deeply as the carriage stopped at the entrance courtyard. “Who knows?” He looked ahead at the large oak doors that opened, filling the courtyard with the light from inside. “Only one way to find out,” Harry said, opening the door of the carriage and stepping onto the grounds.

\-------------------------------------

As he stepped over the threshold, the world seemed to transform around Harry. No longer did he see the piles of rubble surrounding the Entrance Hall, nor the dead bodies of Hogwarts students and Death Eaters. The dust that had filled the air, the cries of the wounded, the screaming of terror, had all faded away, replaced by a new, fresh smell and sensation. Bright, white candles suspended in mid-air illuminated every inch of the Entrance Hall, giving the picture frames, the marble staircase, the house points hour glasses, and even the flagstone floor an iridescent shine.

“Bloody hell!” Ron said, coming to stop beside Harry, mesmerized at the scene before him. “They really did clean the place up.”

They stood and watched as ghosts passed through the walls of the room, happily greeting many of the returning students. All of the portraits on the walls were alive with activity as the occupants scrambled to look at the new students and to exchange greetings with familiar faces, welcoming them all back to Hogwarts. 

“Look!” Ron shouted, pointing up toward the marble staircase. “There’s Peeves.” 

“Come on, both of you,” Hermione said, pushing both young men in their lower backs, before stopping to look up. “Is that really Peeves?”

Upon hearing his name, the ghost swooped down toward the trio, cackling madly. “Wee little Potter isn’t so wee and little anymore.” The ghost stopped to float above the students. “We all owe you our many thanks, Harry Potter. For if not for your sacrifice, Hogwarts would be no more.” The ghost tugged at the bowtie that was draped around his neck. 

Harry fidgeted on the spot, not knowing exactly what his response would be. “You’re welcome,” Harry muttered. The simple comment had caused the grisly images from the battle to resurface in his mind. Harry closed his eyes while a chill trickled down his spine.

“Peeves, why are you wearing the bowtie?” Ron asked, unaware of Harry’s plight. 

Hermione grabbed Harry’s and Ron’s arms and led them into the Great Hall, as she called back to the ghost. “Sorry, Peeves! We can’t be late for the Start of Term Feast.”

“Hermione, what was that about?” Ron asked as the trio walked toward the Gryffindor table. 

“Honestly, Ron, didn’t you notice Harry?” She hissed. 

“Thanks, Hermione, but I’ll be alright,” Harry said, bringing his eyes to meet hers. “Let’s just get through all of this, and maybe tomorrow things will be better.” 

“Right, mate!” Ron said, lightly slapping Harry’s back. “You said it. I’m bloody starved!” 

“Boys, honestly!” Hermione said, sighing loudly and rolling her eyes. 

The trio sat down at the Gryffindor table. Many of their friends came over to chat and shake hands with them. Quick stories about their summer adventures were exchanged as other members of the DA crossed the room and visited the Gryffindor table. Harry melted into himself as others talked on about their summers. He nodded and smiled when necessary, allowing Ron and Hermione to handle most of the speaking, and was relieved when the topic of Draco Malfoy did not come up in the conversation. 

As he began to tire of the monotonous drone from his friends, Harry’s gaze lazily drifted toward the staff table. His eyes scanned the table, noting the familiar faces of Professor Flitwick and Madame Pomfrey. His vision drifted to an old man who looked as if he was hardly awake. White wisps of hair barely covered the patches of skin around his ears, and his loose jowls gave him a saggy appearance. Sitting next to this droopy old man was a woman with a loud violet, flowery robe. Her bright blonde hair stood at attention, not a single strand moving as the woman talked animatedly to the wizard sitting next to her. Her face was adorned with hues of rouge and magenta, while her eyelids were colored in shades of lilac. Her long black eyelashes fluttered as if they were butterfly wings. Multiple gold and silver necklaces hung around her neck, glittering against the bright color of her robe. 

The man sitting next to this clownish woman was dressed in all black. His silver hair was pulled back into a ponytail that complimented his face. There was something oddly familiar about the man. Harry ignored his own name as he journeyed into his thoughts and focused upon the man’s face. Even though the man was quite old, he still had a somewhat youthful and aristocratic look. Harry continued to stare at the man, but recoiled at the sight of a silver and black-furred animal that had climbed upon the man’s shoulder and nestled against his cheek. 

“It’s a giant rat!” Harry heard a voice behind him. “Bloody hell, look at the size of that thing! And he’s feeding it!” Ron hissed as the conversation about their summer activities came to an abrupt halt. “What is it?” Ron asked.

Harry knew from the visits to the Muggle zoo exactly what kind of an animal it was, though he also remembered hearing the zookeeper talk about how this animal did not make for a good pet. “It’s an opossum,” Harry stated, turning around to look at the gaping faces of the people at their table. “Marsupials that are usually found in North America, but I’ve seen them at the Muggle zoos in London.”

“How hideous,” Harry heard, as one of the girls behind him gasped.

“Actually, opossums are very affectionate, intelligent animals,” Hermione said. 

“I still say it looks like a bloody rat,” Ron said. “Look at those teeth, Hermione. How smart and cuddly does that thing look if it bit you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. Professor McGonagall wouldn’t allow a creature inside of Hogwarts if she thought it was a threat to anyone,” Hermione said.

“Oh yeah, remember Fluffy?” 

“Quiet, both of you,” Harry snapped, sending most of the occupants from the other houses back to their own tables. 

“What’s wrong with you, Harry?” Ron asked, playfully shoving at Harry’s arm.

“That,” Harry answered. He turned around to face Ron and Hermione while jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Why is the Minister of Magic here?” Harry watched as both of his friends’ mouths opened in surprise. “Well?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Remember what it was like the last time the Ministry was at Hogwarts?” He held up his hand in front of them so that they could read the faint outlines of the words that were permanently etched onto the back of his hand. 

Hermione shook her head, quickly regaining her composure. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Harry. The Ministry has no reason to be involved at Hogwarts now.” 

Harry watched as she quickly glanced back at the staff table, and then back into his face. “Are you so sure, Hermione?” 

“Of course.” She replied, though her fingers belied her full confidence as they played with the tip of her robe. “I’m sure he’s just here for the Start-of-Term-Feast festivities.

“I dunno, Hermione,” Harry replied. “The Minister is usually not here unless…” Harry’s thoughts stopped as two familiar faces beamed at him from the Staff table. 

A giant of a man waved a huge paw-like hand in his direction, smiling from behind his bushy whiskers. Hagrid waved again and nodded his head to the wizard sitting to his left. Harry grabbed Hermione’s robe and then Ron’s, turning their gaze away from the Minister, and toward the person next to Hagrid.

“Bloody hell! It’s Dad!” Ron shouted while jumping up from his seat. The noisy chatter in the Great Hall immediately ceased, while all eyes turned to Ron. 

Harry watched as Mr. Weasley’s face turned scarlet. He mouthed the word “language” and motioned for Ron to sit down, but still smiled down at the trio. 

“Mr. Weasley’s teaching here now?” Harry asked, as excitement and a ray of happiness filled him at the site of the balding, spectacled man. 

Hermione pulled Ron into his seat. “Yeah, I suppose he is!” Ron whispered. “I mean, Dad said that he had a surprise for all of us, but he couldn’t tell anyone exactly what it is. I suppose he told Mum, but she couldn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“I wonder what class he will be teaching?” Hermione mused, as a door opened from the side of the hall, and the first year students filed into the Great Hall. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Stupid hat, always says the same thing year after year.” Ron grumbled as did his stomach. “I’m bloody starving here. They need to hurry up with the food!” 

“Shh!” Hermione hissed, slapping Ron’s arm. “They’ll hear you.”

“Good! Then maybe they’ll hurry it up.” 

“He’s right, you know,” Harry said, turning and looking at the both of them. “It’s very similar to what it said in our fifth year.”

Harry drifted away as Hermione’s whispers combined with the sorting of the first year students. In his mind, Harry could hear the Sorting Hat repeating the song that it had recited. Certain words stood out to Harry from the rest. The hat spoke about “unity” and “trust” among the four houses. It told about “friendships” and “failure”. Lastly, the words “peril” and “danger” came from the old hat. Harry continued to focus on these words while he ignored the sorting ceremony, and he barely clapped when others applauded. His mind continued to turn and twist, and around every bend he would see Draco smiling, laughing, and playing with Teddy. That was his Draco, his rock. 

He emerged from his thoughts as a loud applause echoed through the hall. McGonagall stepped to the podium while the chair and the Sorting Hat were carried away. Harry looked on as she raised her hands, calling for silence from the students. “And now, let us enjoy this delicious meal. Please begin.”

“Finally!” Ron exclaimed as golden plates of food appeared in front of them. He took some of each dish and began digging in with relish. 

Harry moodily picked at his food, while his stomach voiced its’ opinion about the lack of intake. Propping his left elbow on the table and resting the side of his face into the palm of his hand, Harry stabbed at the bits of roast beef with his fork, causing the utensil to scrape across the plate and eliciting a high-pitched sound that reverberated across the hall. The Great Hall went silent for a moment as many students turned to the source of the sound, and a few of the teachers did the same at the staff table. Oblivious to the attention, Harry continued with his roast beef, and then moved onto the treacle tart that had appeared before him. Every so often, he would look up from his food to find Draco at the Slytherin table boasting about something. A dull ache throbbed inside of Harry’s mind as he watched Pansy Parkinson lay her hand lightly on Draco’s wrist. The ache increased when Draco did nothing to push away the girl’s hand. As if sensing Harry’s thoughts, Draco gazed up from his plate, locked eyes with Harry for a brief second, sneered, and pulled Pansy a bit closer to him. Harry cursed under his breath as he stabbed his spoon into the pudding that had appeared, causing the filling to fly across the table and onto Neville Longbottom.

Once more, the sounds from inside the Great Hall ceased at the disturbance. “Sorry, Neville,” Harry said, reaching for his napkin, and handing it to Neville. 

“Oh,” Neville replied, wiping the custard-topped pudding away from his face and robe. “It’s alright, Harry. We’re all a bit overwhelmed tonight. Besides, that’s the second time today that has happened to me. I’m starting to get used to it.” He finished wiping away the pudding from his face as giggles came from the other tables. 

“Harry, are you…” Hermione began.

“Yes, Hermione. I’m alright,” Harry whispered hastily before she could finish. 

He went back to the new pudding that had appeared before him, making sure not to ruin this one. He was about to taste the first spoonful when he detected the unexpected sensation of something climbing up his trouser leg. Looking down, Harry watched as a small, beige-colored item ascended his leg. Harry noted that the eight legs and small black eyes resembled those of a spider however, before he could do anything about it, Ron suddenly yelled, “Spider!”, and leapt from the Gryffindor table, knocking over his food and that of everyone close to him. 

“Ah, Dad, a spider!” Ron shrieked as he backed against the wall.

“Ronald Billius!” Mr. Weasley shouted, marching down from the staff table. “You are behaving like a child! Sit down before you cause any more embarrassment.” 

Sounds of laughter came from the other three tables in the hall before a loud and authoritative voice boomed throughout the hall. “Silence, all of you!” McGonagall said. “There will be none of that here,” she continued addressing the four tables. “Mr. Weasley, when you are ready,” she finished nodding at both Weasley men. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said, “it’s not Ron’s fault, it’s mine. This is what scared him.” Harry held the parchment spider in the palm of his hand, allowing the elder Weasley to closely examine the cause of the disturbance.

“Blimey,” Arthur said, lightly touching the spider parchment with his finger, and seeing the thing retreat slightly. “Who sent you that, Harry?”

“Dunno, sir. It just came to me.” 

Mr. Weasley scanned the other tables, noting the blonde head of Draco Malfoy shaking with laughter. He cleared his throat, and turned back to Harry. “Well, carry on then, Mr. Potter,” he said, patting Harry on the shoulder. “And, you too, Ron,” he whispered, “don’t be such a scaredy cat, as the Muggles say.” Arthur returned to the staff table, with a parting smile and a small nod to McGonagall and Shacklebolt.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered as the normal sounds of utensils clattering and light chatter resumed throughout the hall. “What is that?”

“I dunno, but I have a good guess who it’s from,” Harry replied, inclining his head toward the Slytherin table. “Who else sends me gifts like this?”

“Malfoy?” she asked. 

“Probably.” Harry cupped his hands under the edge of the table so only he could see what the message would say. The spider parchment moved to the center of his hands, waiting for the command to reveal its’ contents. “Open,” Harry whispered. “I command you to open,” Harry said, trying again. The spider parchment stood there, its tiny legs slightly moving as if incapable of finding a comfortable place to stand. “Damn thing, just reveal your secrets!” The body of the spider cracked and broke open as the beige color expanded, forming a small slip of parchment that fit perfectly into Harry’s hands. A single word appeared at the top of the parchment, hovering there for Harry to read. 

“Happy?” Harry muttered to himself. The word disappeared only to be replaced by another word. “Jealous?” Harry looked up from the message and locked eyes again with Draco. A slow sneer snaked across the Slytherin’s face. His eyebrows slowly arched upward and he cast a sideways look at Pansy Parkinson, before tilting his chin up and slightly nodding at Harry. 

Harry knew this look of smugness all too well. He glanced back down at the parchment in his hands as a series of words formed-- ‘Better For Myself.’ The words vanished as two male stick figures appeared at opposite ends of the parchment. Small hearts fluttered above them as the two figures walked toward the middle of the page, and embraced. The figures were about to kiss, when one of the figures brandished a wand in his hand, cursing the other stick figure until it lay prone upon the ground. 

Anger coursed through Harry. He looked across the hall again as Draco snickered, then turned his back to the Gryffindor and talked to the housemates at the Slytherin table. Slowly, Harry began to tear the parchment into tiny strips. He closed his eyes and savored the tearing sound coming from beneath the table. 

“What was it, Harry?” Hermione asked, hearing the sound of the parchment being shredded.

“Nothing important,” Harry answered, opening his eyes. “Just a reminder of why I really decided to come back.” He ripped the last bits of the parchment and stuffed it all into his trouser pocket.

\-----------------------------------

McGonagall strode to the podium and extended her arms toward the corners of the Great Hall. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Her silver and sky blue robe shone in the candle light, as the faculty and students all applauded. “Please,” she sniffled, touching the back of her hand against her mouth and regaining her composure. “Applaud those who have given their courage and made their sacrifices for us to be able to go forward. Those friends, those family members, and those loyal allies who gave their lives…they are the ones who deserve this.” She stepped back as applause filled the room once more. Once the applause had died away, McGonagall strode back to the podium. “We honor those brave men and women by being here tonight; here with our friends, with our families, inside of this home.” A small round of applause moved through the four tables. McGonagall held up her hand to silence them. “Tonight, we move forward with our lives, as they would want us to do. Hogwarts has risen from the ashes like a phoenix. Much like a newborn phoenix, Hogwarts will once again become a symbol of righteousness and hope in our wizarding world. That is why we have rebuilt, and that is why we have been reborn. We must continue on, and we must not falter in our stride. We have shown our enemies and the world just how strong a united Hogwarts can and will forever be.” 

A thunderous applause erupted from three of the tables, while the Slytherins lightly applauded, some choosing not to clap at all. “Thank you,” the headmistress continued. “Now, let us focus on our tasks at hand. It is a new year at Hogwarts, but first, please allow me a moment of your time to explain a few things before we introduce our new professors. You are all very much aware of the events that happened here in the last school year. Hogwarts was taken prisoner by Death Eaters, and we were made to suffer under their reign. After speaking at great lengths with the Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot, and the Hogwarts Board of Governors, it has been unanimously agreed upon that all credits from last year will not count toward any students’ records. Unfortunately, I am sorry to say that many of you will be taking the same required classes that you were in last year. However, this year you will not be graded under a Death Eater’s glare. All of the faculty members that you see behind me have been approved by the Ministry of Magic. They, along with myself, will be teaching you this school year. I dare say that Hogwarts may feel a bit more crowded this year, and that is because I have asked many of the older students to come back and finish up their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. studies, properly. Those whom I visited in person did have a choice and I am so happy to see each of you have decided to return. In order to accommodate the extra students, you will find that extra sleeping rooms and accommodations have been set up in each of the four houses. Now, I am sure that many of you are familiar with the usual faces of a number of our staff members. For the first year students, you will soon get to know these professors. However, since the last school year, there have been a number of personnel changes here at Hogwarts. It gives me a wonderful honor to introduce your new teachers for this school year.”

“With the retiring of Professor Slughorn, once again, I would like to welcome the new head of Syltherin house, and the Potions master. Welcome, Mr. Arsenius Jigger.” The droopy old man stood from his chair and nearly toppled over as he tried to make a slight bow to the audience. 

“Secondly, I would like to present Madame Viviane Rivail. She will be taking over for the retired Sybil Trelawney, in Divination.” The fluffy blonde-haired woman stood from the table, allowing the full length of her violet robe to be taken in by every set of eyes in the hall. She waved to the crowd and smiled with her perfectly shaped teeth while batting her long eyelashes. 

“Thank you, Viviane,” McGonagall stated, nodding her head at the woman to sit back down. “Next we have our new Muggle Studies professor, Mr. Arthur Weasley.” 

The Gryffindor table exploded with cheers and applause. Arthur Weasley stood, bowed, and waved at the students. His face was now the same color as a beet. He motioned for the Gryffindors to sit down and stop with the cheering. 

McGonagall smiled while the noise from the Gryffindor table slowly ceased. “With the departure of our former caretaker, Mr. Filch, and his cat, Mrs. Norris, it gives me a wonderful pleasure to introduce you to our new Hogwarts caretaker, Marius Black and his companion, Thor.” The man with the silver hair stood from his chair, as a slight scattering of applause came from the four tables. He nodded curtly and softly petted the opossum that gripped his neck and hair to keep from falling. 

“Our final new addition to Hogwarts is Professor Vulpin, who will be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” She pointed to the empty chair. “However, I have received word that the professor is unhappily detained and could not make the Start-of-Term-Feast tonight, but will be present in the morning for his first class.”

McGonagall took a moment before continuing. “I will be retaining the Transfiguration post. Well, as you can see it has been a very busy summer for us here. There are many new faces and I am sure that we will all do our best to make this year a successful and a very memorable one. Now, that the introductions are over with, I have a few start of term notices to make before turning the floor over to the minister of Magic. To all first year students, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds. Please do not forget about the House Cup Challenge, as well as Quidditch tryouts. Also, Mr. Black has asked me to speak about the notice for rules within the corridors while at Hogwarts. You will find this information on the door of Mr. Black’s office, as well as on each Common Room notice board.”

“Lastly, I know that many of us are dealing with heartaches and horrible memories from what happened in this very room. Those sounds and images will not soon leave our minds. Should any of you feel the need to seek comfort, please feel free to come to my office and together we will discuss the situation.” A soft clearing of the throat emanated from behind Minerva. The sound was so eerily reminiscent of Dolores Umbridge that the headmistress could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing. She turned to see Viviane smiling at her. 

“Headmistress?” The woman asked.

Minerva walked over to the table and placed her hand over Viviane’s. “Forgive me, madame.” She returned to the podium and continued. “Also, Professor Rivail has considerable experience as a counselor. I would like for you all to go to her as well, if you feel that you need to speak to someone.”

She exhaled and smiled down upon the four tables. “Well, if that is all of the business, I shall turn the floor over to the Minister, so that he can say a few words.”

\----------------------

“Thank you, Headmistress McGonagall,” the Minister said, making a slight bow to the woman. “Ah, Hogwarts!” The Minister’s voice boomed throughout the Great Hall without the use of magic. “I was just reminded today that no matter how long you’ve been gone from all of this, you can never be prepared for the feeling that you have inside of you, for something so special.” Kingsley placed his hands on either side of the podium, straightened his posture, and began. “Seeing your many faces, reminds me of a time when I was just like you. Sitting there at a table as a first year, and later as a seventh year, you wonder how and where the time goes. Soon, you are moving on to other adventures in your life. The responsibility of the Ministry of Magic, and part of my job, is to see that our young witches and wizards receive the invaluable education that each of you will need to set forth on those new adventures. All of you are uniquely special and carry a rare and powerful gift inside of you. That gift must be nurtured and cared for like a baby seedling.”

He paused and scanned the room, making eye contact with the students at each table before continuing. “It’s a new beginning for all of us. We have been given in life what so few others have ever had--a clean slate on which to begin anew. We have a chance to rebuild something, to make it even greater than before. I can’t do that alone. But, I can do it with your help. Hogwarts will become a shining beacon for the wizarding world. Each of you will have a piece of that honor. That all starts right here, tonight, in this very hall. Years from now, when you have your grandchild on your knee and that child looks up at you and asks you to speak to them about Hogwarts, you will feel your inner pride swell when you tell that child that you helped to lead Hogwarts out of the darkness and into the light. The cloud of our past is over, and now streams of sunlight are shining down upon us. No longer will we cower at the sound of a name. Let us all celebrate the rebirth of our school, our home, and our family. Tonight we step forward into a new era of openness, of effectiveness, and we will preserve our heritage for all future generations of Hogwarts students that are yet to come.”

The Minister raised his wand toward the ceiling of the room as a stream of gold shot from the tip of the wand. The stream began to turn and shape itself into a golden-sparkled shield. Another golden stream shot from the wizard’s wand as a badger and an eagle flew through the air and imposed themselves upon the shield. Following this, a lion and a snake intertwined together while in mid-air and then unwrapped from around one another to land upon the shield, thus forming the Hogwarts crest. The shield dazzled above the candlelight and into the black sky above before exploding into a collage of fireworks, leaving the remains of the crest suspended in a golden smoke. The Minister stepped back as the Great Hall roared with a standing ovation. Even most of the Slytherins stood and lightly applauded. The large man smiled and shook hands with members of the teaching staff as the applause continued. 

McGonagall approached the podium, her hands raised, asking for silence. “Thank you very much, Minister Shacklebolt. I just have a few last words to say before the feast is over. First year students will follow their respective Head boy or girl to their proper common rooms. The Heads of Houses will meet with each of you at breakfast in the morning to review your new schedules. Now, it’s off to bed with everyone. Good night!”

\----------------------------------

The Gryffindors gathered along the marble staircase and began the trek upwards, occasionally halting at a particular level of the staircase as it would make its way over from another part of the stairway. Many of the younger Gryffindors chatted excitedly about what had just happened inside of the Great Hall, while the older students quietly talked amongst one another. 

“Best start-of-term feast ever!” Ron said, pumping his fist into the air as they continued up the staircase. “Now I’m glad I decided to come back.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you hear anything that the minister said?”

“Yeah,” Ron answered. “But, come on Hermione, you had to have loved the fireworks at the end?” When Hermione didn’t answer him, Ron quickly turned to Harry as they continued to walk up the stairs. “Harry? Surely you liked that bit at the end. I hope Shacklebolt never resigns as the Minister of Magic. He needs to come to every feast!”

“Ron, enough! Yes, it was impressive,” Hermione hissed as they neared the seventh floor corridor. 

The group rounded the corner, walking through the corridor lined with bookcases, tapestries, and statues of armed knights. They all ambled up to the portrait of the Fat Lady, who put down her plate of food and cheerfully greeted them. “Password?” She asked, plucking a purple grape from the plate and placing it into her mouth. The Gryffindors looked at one another, each asking if they knew the password. 

“You’re supposed to give us the password,” Hermione said, stepping forward from the group.

“I know that, my dear,” the portrait said, wiping her mouth with a French style serviette. “I’ve been studying the cosmos while you all have been away. It is enticingly fascinating. You wouldn’t believe all of the natural wonders of the universe that are right above us.”

“Password?” Hermione shouted, stamping her foot on the floor.

“My dear!” The Fat Lady protested. “Such a temper and impatience. ‘Tis not very becoming of a Gryffindor.” She wagged her finger at Hermione. “As I was about to announce, before being rudely interrupted,” she said, lightly patting the brown curls that hung down to the top of her shoulders. “The password is ‘cosmic creepers’. Do remember it, as I shan’t be reminding you of the word any longer.” The portrait door swung open, allowing all of the Gryffindors to climb through and into the common room.

“Hasn’t changed a bit,” Ron said, standing next to one of the plump chairs and circling about, taking in all of the common room. “Feels just like old times, eh, Harry?” He asked, nudging Harry in the arm.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, gazing around the room while many of the Gryffindors broke off into groups of two and three and began to renew friendships from the summer break. His mind was still processing the events that had taken place in the Great Hall, dissecting many of the words that the Sorting Hat, Headmistress McGonagall, and the Minister had spoken. Harry sat down in the chair and stared into the unlit fireplace, while laughter and excitement came from all around him. 

Noting Harry’s preoccupied state, Hermione grabbed Ron’s wrist, pulling him down onto the soft couch beside Harry while she sat down in the chair, just to Harry’s left. “Is it about the note, Harry?” she asked.

Harry’s hand clenched around the scraps of parchment that he had shoved into his pocket. Slowly, he brought them out of his pocket and, holding them in the palm of his hand, allowed Ron and Hermione to watch as broken letters continued to appear and disappear, along with the crude drawing. “His welcoming back gift to me,” Harry growled, before tossing the scraps of parchment into the fireplace. 

I can’t do this Harry. I need to better myself.

The sting of the words echoed in Harry’s mind, while his hand whipped his wand out and set the parchment on fire. “I came back because Dumbledore would have wanted me to do so.” Harry softly spoke, staring at the small flames. “I also came back because I will have Draco. He will not brush me aside, because I know that part of him that cares. I’ve seen the real, true Draco Malfoy.” Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, while the last bit of flames from the fire reflected upon his glasses. “His gift has only fueled the flames.” Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the faint smell of burned parchment. Opening his eyes, he nodded to both of his friends. 

“Harry, don’t you think you should, maybe, let all of this go, mate?” Ron asked, keeping his voice down to a whisper. 

“I can’t,” Harry answered. “Draco started this, and I won’t let this opportunity pass me by. It will end on my terms, not his.” Harry got up from the couch, looking back down at his friends. “I’m going to bed. I’ll catch up to the both of you in the morning.” 

“Hi, Harry! A good summer, yeah?” Seamus Finnigan’s voice came from across the room. 

Harry watched as the Gryffindor approached and clapped a hand across his back. “Yeah, Seamus.” Harry replied, half-heartedly. “Brilliant summer. Can’t you tell?” 

“Sorry. I was at my gram’s for the summer, and I didn’t get much news except for what was in the Prophet.”

Harry’s hands clenched as he looked away from Seamus and focused his building rage upon the ashes in the fireplace. He sensed movement beside him as Hermione and Ron stood up, placing their bodies between Harry and Seamus. “Then you already know everything,” Harry spat, while continuing to glare at the ashes. He was aware of the silence that had cascaded down upon the room as the others had stopped their conversations to listen. 

Seamus scoffed, causing Harry to whirl on the spot, his fingertips brushing the butt of his wand. “I just wanted to know if it’s all true, or is it some more rubbish that Skeeter has printed?” 

Harry glared at Seamus while noticing Hermione nervously biting her lower lip and shaking her head side to side. Turning his head to take in the rest of the common room, Harry met the eyes of a number of fellow Gryffindors, while others looked away. His mouth became dry, and his fingers started to sweat as the decision balanced on the cusp of his thoughts. He felt his fingers slip away from his wand, and the rage subsided. A new sensation formed, taking the place of rage, and it slowly spread from his mind to every orifice of his body. Harry slightly shook his head, confirming with himself the decision and exactly what he was about to say and do. He glanced at Hermione and nodded to her, hoping that she would not interrupt once he began to speak. He watched as Hermione stepped over and touched Ron on his shoulder, as if signaling to him of what was about to happen. Harry walked past his best friends and stood before all of his fellow Gryffindor family.

Harry took off his robe, tossed it to onto the back of the couch, loosened and untied the scarlet and gold tie from around his neck, and pulled the dress shirt out from beneath his trousers. His tongue briefly touched his parched lips, and Harry scratched at the back of his head, ruffling the black strands of hair. “Yeah,” he began. A hint of a smile toyed with his lips. “It’s all true. I’m sure that you’re all dying to ask me so let’s just go ahead and get it over with. I’m sure that by now, word has already spread through the entire school, so it doesn’t matter anymore.

“’Have a good summer, Harry?’” He scoffed. “’Do anything exciting, Harry?’” Harry mimicked, glaring at Seamus. “Yeah, I’ve done loads!” Harry shouted, kicking over a foot stool. “I killed Voldemort to begin my summer, and then moved onto having to be chased through all of London by some maniac named Phillipe Moreaux. I had to go into isolation, which I was told was for my own good, with an even crazier American wizard named Janus. Oh, and let’s not forget that I broke up with my girlfriend and got slapped for that. I had to appear, again, in front of the Wizengamot, to give testimony about watching Albus Dumbledore die. I watched as Lucius Malfoy was murdered inside the Ministry of Magic. Oh yeah, as you all are aware thanks to the Daily Prophet, I’m snogging Draco Malfoy! So, all in all, it’s been a bloody good summer for me!” Harry shouted, tossing his hands in the air. He stormed past them, making his way toward the stairs that led to the boy’s dormitory, but stopped at the sound of his name.

A young boy with dark, black hair and glasses stepped forward from the knot of Gryffindors. Harry watched as the young boy walked up to him, placed his smaller hand in Harry’s and clasped down, holding Harry’s hand. Harry noted the boy’s thick glasses and soft green eyes. Instantly, Harry felt as if he had fallen back through time and was looking at an eleven year old version of himself. Harry kneeled, bringing himself with the young boy. “What’s your name?” Harry asked. 

“Sullivan. Thomas Oliver Sullivan,” the boy answered. 

Harry could feel the softness of the boy’s fingers and hand. He found his fingertips tracing over the boy’s own fingers, feeling every soft line that created this young boy’s individuality. “First year?” Harry asked. He watched as the boy shook his head forward, and pushed his glasses back up onto his nose with a finger from his other hand. Harry smiled, and released the boy’s hand. “You must think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No.” The answer was short and swift from the young boy. 

Harry began to get up, but the boy continued with his words. “My older step-brother likes boys. I’ve snuck downstairs sometimes and seen him and his boyfriend sitting on the sofa, snogging. Mum doesn’t mind. She said she knew a long time ago.”

“Is your brother here, at Hogwarts?” Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

“No. He’s a muggle. So, I don’t care if you go around snogging other boys. Even if it is a Slytherin.”

Harry chuckled as he gazed at the young boy. He brought his right hand up to the boy’s arm and softly patted it. “Thanks, Thomas.”

“I always read the Daily Prophet, and mum always said that you couldn’t believe everything that you read, but that you could always tell if someone is genuine or not by their eyes.” Harry watched as Thomas stared into his eyes. 

“What do you see when you look at me?” Harry asked, letting the young Gryffindor stare into his soul.

A moment of silence passed between the two before Harry could feel the small intake of breath from the boy. “Mum’s right. I believe in you,” the young boy stated, as he smiled and backed away from Harry, rejoining his first-year friends. 

Harry stood up. “He’s a true Gryffindor,” Harry said, pointing at the first-year. “Dumbledore would be proud,” he said turning and walking up the stairs.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

“You two have got to do something about Harry!’ Seamus said, pointing at the stairs where Harry had disappeared to. “He’s fraternizing with the enemy! A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, especially that particular one…something has to be done about that!” 

Ron made a movement toward Seamus but Hermione placed her hand on his arm, stopping the redhead and shook her head at the exasperated Seamus. “Honestly, Seamus, there’s nothing that can be done. It’s…Harry wouldn’t like me saying this, but it’s over anyway.” 

“It didn’t sound ‘over’ to me. It’s bloody unethical, Hermione! You know it is. We all know it is,” Seamus gestured, waving at the other Gryffindors in the room. 

“No, it’s not,” Neville Longbottom’s voice came from the crowd. He stepped forward toward Seamus, nodding his head toward Ron and Hermione. “Who are you to say Draco’s a lost cause? Maybe he can change. Maybe if Harry--”

“Bollocks, Neville!” Seamus replied. “There’s no bloody way that Draco Malfoy is going to change. Merlin’s Beard, you guys, he’s a Death Eater’s son. He is a bloody Death Eater! And you all want to be friends with him? You’re crazy, the lot of you!”

“Did you listen and pay attention to the Minister’s signs this evening?” Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest. “Surely, you noticed?” 

“I saw the Minister produce all four houses of Hogwarts.”

“Well then you didn’t see anything, did he Hermione?” Ron chided, stepping behind her. 

“Seamus,” Hermione said. “The Minister was right about one thing, and he was trying to show us that in his message. It is a new era. A new beginning. If a Slytherin and a Gryffindor can overcome everything together, then there is a new hope. Centuries of hate and prejudices are over. It’s time to make our new beginning.” 

“Well I’m not going to be friends with a Slytherin!” Seamus huffed.

“Fair enough,” Hermione said, as she tossed a lock of her curly brown hair over her shoulder. “Then you can remain part of the archaic past.” She got up, slipped her arm through Ron’s, and started for the stairway. Walking through the crowd, Hermione spotted the young first year, Thomas Sullivan, who smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

 

\--------------------------------

The Slytherin common room was full of giddy first-years gossiping on the low-backed sofas, tapping at the glass of the lake windows, or playing obnoxious games on the floor. A trio of the little creatures were even running around playing tag. 

“They wouldn’t have gotten away with that when I was prefect,” Draco muttered. He walked up to a couch where two wide-eyed girls were exchanging whispers. “Move. Make way for your elder and better.” 

One of the girls, a plump-cheeked brunette with her hair in intricate braids, thrust her chin out and opened her mouth, but her friend took her arm and dragged her away before she could force Draco to teach her a lesson. 

“Bullying little girls now, Draco?” 

Draco flopped down on the sofa and looked up to see Daphne Greengrass shaking her head at him. Millicent hovered behind her, but to Draco’s irritation, Pansy was nowhere in sight. “They need to learn their place.” 

“They’re not the only ones.” That came from Theodore Knott, who had entered the common room with Blaise and Pansy. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked. He glanced briefly at Theodore before gesturing to Pansy and patting the cushion beside him. Instead of taking the seat he’d offered, Pansy perched on his lap, her bony arse digging into his thighs. The position wasn’t comfortable, but the closeness reminded him another body he had held. A jolt went through him as he remembered that last kiss on the stoop of Malfoy Manor, and he pulled Pansy closer. 

“It means I saw you passing a little note to Potter,” Theodore explained. “I wonder what it said?” 

“Don’t,” Blaise advised, shaking his head in Theodore’s direction. 

Millicent had begun to giggle like one of the stupid first-years. 

“Is this true?” Pansy demanded. She slid off of his lap and folded her arms across her chest. 

“So what if it is?” Daphne asked. “I don’t understand.” 

“You don’t read the paper, do you?” Theodore asked, smirking. 

Daphne shook her head. “Of course not! What person our age does? It’s absolutely dreadful to read, and if it’s not on a test, I don’t see the point of boring myself.” 

Theodore murmured something about a typical shallow girl, but Pansy had stood up beside Daphne and now glared down at Draco. “Yeah, the Prophet’s dreadfully boring, but when your boyfriend is in it for snogging another boy in front of everyone at the Ministry of Magic, you tend to hear about it!” 

Draco stood up so that he could look down at her. He moved close enough to strangle her but restrained his hands. “Even Skeeter never said that!” 

“He’s right,” Theodore agreed. “It was just an ‘embrace,’ which is quite a bit different from a ‘snog,’ although I can’t blame you for not knowing the difference. After all, if Draco’s your boyfriend, I doubt you’ve had much of either.” 

“Shut it!” Pansy snapped. “I bloody well know the difference. What I want to know is what was in your little note!” 

Draco forced himself to laugh. “You can’t possibly be jealous because of something some desperate old bag said in order to trick people into reading her stupid articles. If you’re afraid Potter’s prettier than you are…” He regretted that immediately and shut his mouth, watching her twitch with rage. 

Blaise, Millicent, and Theodore all stood back as Pansy inched closer to him. He could feel her breath on his face as she hissed. “I want. To know. What. Was in. The bloody. Note!” 

Draco shrugged, held his hands out, palms up, and rolled his eyes at Blaise and Theodore in the hopes of rallying some male solidarity. “I told him not to bother going out for Quidditch this year. It wouldn’t do to have the savior of the wizarding world knocked off his bloody broomstick and crying.” 

“Hm.” Pansy’s eyes widened and then narrowed. She dropped her hands to her sides, but they quickly clenched into fists. 

Draco sighed in exasperation. “If I were passing secret love notes, do you think I’d do it in front of Theodore?” 

She looked down at her shoes, and Draco used the opportunity to take one of her hands. He wanted to squeeze it hard enough to crush the bones, but instead he brought it to his lips. That seemed to do the trick, because she laughed and shook her head. 

“I hope you do knock him off his broomstick!” Blaise said. “He could do with being taken down a peg.” 

Pansy draped her free arm across Draco’s shoulder and stood on her tip-toes to whisper the words “my room” in his ear. He stroked her hair, buying himself time as his mind raced. When they had been together before, she had always teased him, pretending to offer herself before making an excuse to leave. Something told him tonight would be different, and he felt a surge of irrational guilt, as if he were betraying Harry. “Maybe later,” he told her. “It’s our first night back, we should all do something to celebrate!” 

Millicent clapped her hands together and exchanged a giggle with Daphne. “What do you have in mind?” 

“I’ll bet Jigger has a stash of all kinds of potions from his store, and the old codger’s too senile to notice any of it missing,” Draco suggested. 

“And if that rat-thing catches you?” Daphne asked, shuddering. 

Draco shrugged. “Fine. Stay here if you’re scared to get caught, but don’t expect us to share. Who’s coming?”

“I’ll come,” Millicent offered. 

Blaise and Theodore both echoed her, but Pansy shook her head. “I’ll wait here. You can bring me back something fun to show how much you love me.” 

Blaise made a whip sound and an accompanying gesture, which made Daphne and Millicent snicker and earned them glares from Pansy. I’d like to bring you a flask of weedosoros poison, Draco thought. Out loud, he said, “I’ll be sure to do that.” 

\------------------------------------------

The silence of the hallway seemed to magnify each sound—Millicent’s heavy breathing, the shuffle of Theodore’s feet, even the swish of Blaise’s robes. Black himself might be old enough to be going deaf, but the giant rat would have animal hearing; the noises would be even louder to it than they were to Draco. A few years ago, that thought would have sent chills down Draco’s spine. An expedition like this would have been a mild thrill to break the tedium of school life, but now it was just another chore. This was nothing compared to the crimes he had committed; the thought of old Black pinching his ear was laughable when stacked against the possibility of Shacklebolt throwing him in Azkaban. 

He glanced behind him to see his three companions turning their heads in all directions, their eyes wide. Blaise and Millicent walked carefully, lowering their feet slowly to muffle the sounds of their footsteps. Theodore hunched down in a comical parody of “sneaking” that made him even more conspicuous. Their hearts are racing at the thought of being caught. Hairs are standing up on their backs, sending shivers down to their toes. Their stomachs are heaving like whomping willow trees. The last time I felt that was on the steps of Malfoy Manor.

“You’re acting like a bunch of scared children!” he admonished. “No one will even care that we’re out here if we say we were…” he paused for a moment, searching for a viable excuse. “Helping Millicent find the gold quill pen she dropped after potions.” 

“But I don’t have…” Millicent began. “Oh. Right. My ‘gold quill pen’.” 

“As if we wouldn’t tell her to find her own damn pen?” Blaise shook his head. 

“Black doesn’t know that, though,” Theodore said. “He doesn’t know us.” 

They had arrived at the door of the potions classroom. Draco tried several unlocking spells and cursed. 

Millicent raised her wand. “Here. I can blast through it.”

Draco pinched the tip of her wand and lowered it. “Don’t be stupid.” 

“Accio keys!” Theodore called. A moment later, he was jingling a large brass ring, which Draco snatched out of his hand. 

“At least one of you has more brains than a bowtruckle.” Draco used the key to open the door. “Now, spread out and stand guard. If Black comes by, just act casual, and if he tries to go in the classroom, distract him. Ask him to help look for Millicent’s pen or something.” 

He entered the classroom, closed the door behind him, and lit the tip of his wand. He half expected to find Jigger still asleep at his desk, or possibly dead from old age. The room, however, was empty and silent save for the bubble of a cauldron in the corner. A cloying smell wafted from the brew, reminding Draco of a mixture of menthol and the cheap cologne that some of his classmates used when they skipped bathing. The contents of the cauldron glowed, bathing the room in a sickly yellow light that made his light spell unnecessary. He wrinkled his nose and decided to avoid the unknown substance, focusing instead on the shelf full of cardboard boxes marked “expired inventory”. 

The first box he opened contained tiny vials of single-use potions with neatly printed commercial labels. He pocketed several vials of erumpent potion with plans of throwing them on Hagrid’s pumpkins. Garroting gas and essence of insanity also went into his robes as he thought vaguely of Pansy. The rest of the vials seemed to be mostly healing potions, which didn’t qualify as fun, so he left them alone. 

The second box yielded euphoria elixir, some sealed tubes of forgetfulness potions, a large bottle of frog parts potion, and a jar of dittany. Nearly out of room in his pockets, he took only the first two and left the rest. He stood up, satisfied with his prizes, and made his way to the door. He heard voices outside and paused a moment. 

“You missed a spot,” Blaise was saying.

“And another over there.” That was Theodore. “Here. Let me help you. Aguamenti.” 

Water rushed under the crack of the door, and laughter erupted outside, followed by a tired voice saying, “That’s enough, if you please. Run along to bed, now.”

“Oh, but we wouldn’t want to be unhelpful!” Theodore protested. “I can summon some soap from the kitchens—“

“That’s quite alright!” The old man sounded alarmed. 

Draco opened the door in time to see a wooden bucket hovering over Marius Black’s head. The giant rat on his shoulder hissed and fled to the opposite side of hallway just as the bucket overturned, soaking Black in a dingy brown solution of suds and dirt. 

“Well, there was some soap in there,” Millicent commented. 

Draco stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. 

Soaking wet from his silver hair to the toes of his immaculately polished shoes, Black began furiously mopping at the mess. “Just making sure the hallways are clean, like Headmistress McGonagall ordered.”

“I wasn’t asking you!” Draco stepped toward Theodore and glared at each of the Slytherins in turn. 

“We were just having a little fun with the man, that’s all.” Blaise shrugged. 

“I see. And does it look like he’s having fun?” Draco pointed angrily to Black, who was ringing the mop into his bucket. 

“What do you care?” Millicent asked. 

Theodore wore a smirk. “He cares because he’s a Black, too. Isn’t that right? Look at the two of them—they have the same nose, the same chin, I wonder if the old man’s a sick perv, too?” 

“Clean this up, now.” Draco said softly. 

“And steal your uncle’s job? I think not. Now, do you have what you came for, or—“

“Now!” Draco interrupted. “Before you regret it.” 

“Before I regret it?” Theodore laughed. “Last I checked, there were three of us and two of you. Make that one and a quarter. A squib doesn’t count as a real-“

Draco’s curse hit Theodore squarely in the chest, sending him back against the wall. “You’ll clean it up, and you’ll apologize!” Draco shouted. He half-expected Jigger, or worse yet, McGonagall running up at any minute, and he didn’t care. 

“He doesn’t want to.” Blaise had his wand raised and pointed it toward Draco. 

“I thought I showed you your place!” Draco snapped. 

“It’s alright, Master Draco,” Black said, still dabbing furiously with his mop. “Go on with your friends—“

“They’re not my friends!” As soon as the words had left Draco’s mouth, he dodged a curse from Millicent and managed to block a spell from Theodore. He looked to Blaise for support, but the other boy shook his head. In desperation, he grabbed Black by the back of his robe and shoved the old man into the potions classroom. Draco then reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of vials, and threw them into the mop bucket, holding his breath. As the bucket exploded in a cloud of noxious vapors, he followed Black into the potions classroom and slammed the door behind him, leaning against it. 

“What did you do?” the old man asked, his voice shaking. 

“Just a little erumpent potion, insanity potion, forgetfulness potion, garroting gas—“

“Thor!” Black shouted. He leaped for the door and began heaving on the handle so hard that Draco had to dig his heels in to keep from being thrown aside. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Draco rasped. His throat was beginning to burn from the gas that had effused under the door. 

“My opossum!” Black was frantic, his blue-grey eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears. 

“Alright! I’ll go back for the bloody rat!” Draco held his breath again, pushed Black aside, and darted into the hall. 

Blaise twitched as he rolled back and forth, heedless of the shards of the mop bucket that littered the floor. Millicent had risen to her knees, where she made some sort of choked giggling sounds, her face red, and her mouth turned up in a hideous grin. Theodore tore at his robes as if they were attacking beasts, taking in deep, rasping breaths as he did so. A small grey blob lay still at his feet, and Draco grabbed it before darting back into the classroom and handing the wet lump of fur to Black, who immediately began sobbing. 

“Lay it on the table,” Draco ordered. 

The caretaker ignored him, hugging the limp body to his chest and repeating, “Thor, Thor…” 

“Fine.” Draco aimed a healing spell at the animal, hitting its tail, which was the only part of it he could see. A moment later, the tail began to twitch, and soon Draco was rewarded with an angry hiss from the little monster as it clawed its way out of Black’s arms and skittered into a dark corner. 

“Thank you!” Black sobbed. 

Draco waved a hand magnanimously and cast a spell to clean and dry the old man. He wasn’t a bad looking old codger, when he wasn’t soaked in dishwater or crying over a rat. He reminded Draco of his maternal grandfather, although Cygnus would never have been caught with a mop. “You should have some bloody dignity!” Draco snarled, falling into one of the empty chairs. “You’re a damned embarrassment.” 

“I’m sorry, Master Malfoy.” Black looked down at his newly-dried shoes. “One can’t help being born a squib, and Headmistress McGonagall was kind enough to—“

“Not because of that!” Draco waved a hand again and sighed angrily. “Filch was a squib, too, and kids were terrified of him. The man knew how to stand up for himself. You’re a Black, aren’t you?” 

“Well…” 

“Not ‘well’. You’re a Black. You won’t catch Mother apologizing for marrying a death eater, you won’t hear Aunt Andromeda saying ‘sorry I married a Muggle-born’, and you won’t find me stammering about what happened between me and Potter.”

“But you’re all wizards, and I’m—“

“Pathetic, that’s what you are.” Draco rolled his eyes. “And if you dare apologize again…” 

“With all respect, Master Malfoy, you don’t know what it’s like not to be able to use magic.” Thor had returned to Black’s shoulder, and the man was feeding the rat something he had pulled from the pocket of his robes. 

“Did I use magic when I saved your skin just now?” Draco asked. 

“Well…” The old man tilted his head to one side, then the other before breaking into a grin. “I suppose not.” 

“Then we’ll make sure you can do the same,” Draco promised. He walked over to the boxes and began rummaging through the contents, reading each label before deciding whether to hand the vial to Black. When he had finished his search, the caretaker’s pockets bulged with potions that ranged from mildly obnoxious to potentially deadly. “Try not to kill anyone,” he warned. 

“I won’t,” Black replied. 

Draco considered asking for clarification, but decided he didn’t really care what the old man meant. “I should go take care of the others. The insanity potion will wear off soon.” 

Black nodded. He opened his mouth, then closed it, repeating this pattern several times as if deciding whether or not to say something. His eyes were locked longingly on the contents of the glowing cauldron that bubbled in the corner. 

“What is it?” Draco asked. 

Black shook his head. “It would be beneath the Black dignity. I couldn’t.” 

“Now you’re worried about dignity?” Draco snorted. “What is it? Better tell me now.” 

“It’s Jigger’s favorite experiment,” Black explained. “I know because he, well, he tries it on me before he drinks it himself. I know, I know! I shouldn’t let him do that. I won’t anymore. But the potion, you see, it, well, let me show you!” With that, he snatched a ladle from one of the tables and took a long draught of the bilious yellow goo.   
“What am I supposed to be watching for?” Draco asked. 

“Make a light!” Black told him, rubbing his hands together in excitement. 

“Lumos,” Draco murmured. He held the tip of his wand up to Black’s face and took a step back in surprise. It was as if someone had taken an iron to Black’s skin, smoothing out all of the wrinkles. His white hair had darkened to a warm ebony color, and even his eyes seemed brighter. 

“It’s a youth potion.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Draco marveled at the effect. Black could be his older brother, and not older by much. “How long will it last?” 

“Not long.” Black pouted and ran his hand wistfully over his own cheek. “A couple of hours if I’m lucky, which is perfect for your friends.” 

“For my friends?” 

“Quick, before the insanity potion wears off!” Black filled the ladle again and darted from the room on his rejuvenated legs. 

Draco groaned and sprinted after him. “You’re not—“ he began, but Black was already dribbling yellow slime into Theodore’s mouth as the Syltherin flapped his arms like a bird. As Black moved on to Blaise and Millicent, Theodore began to shrink, his robes dangling over his hands and pooling around his feet. His cheeks expanded, swelling with baby blubber and his rabbitty teeth looked even worse in comparison to his thin toddler’s lips. He looked about three or four years old, which made his arm flapping and babbling seem more natural. 

Millicent began to cry once she reached her new age, forcing Draco to cast a silencing spell on her. Blaise seemed to take the transition in stride, picking up the pieces of the shattered mop bucket and trying to put them together as if they were a puzzle. 

Draco opened his mouth to berate Black but found himself laughing instead. Millicent was in the throes of a tantrum, drumming her tiny bare heels on the floor. Her shoes had fallen off, and Blaise was now wearing them on his hands and clapping them together.

“Now the outside matches the inside,” Black commented. 

Draco only nodded, unable to catch his breath long enough to answer. He couldn’t recall the last time he had laughed this way. When the pain from the residual garroting gas finally overcame his mirth, he put his hands on his knees, leaning forward and forcing himself to breathe. “You know if McGonagall found out…” 

“She won’t!” Black promised. 

“Good. Can you clean the rest of this up?”

Black nodded. “I can. And Master Malfoy…thank you. It’s the first time since I was a small boy that anyone has ever treated me like, well, like family. I thought all the Blacks had forgotten about old Marius.” He proceeded to crush Draco in a fierce embrace that involved Thor chattering in Draco’s ear.

Draco felt the hard glass of the vials in Marius’ pockets digging into his abdomen and experienced a moment of panic at the thought of all of them breaking at once. “Enough!” he barked. “You have enough garroting gas in your pockets to wipe out London. Be careful with it!”

“Yes, yes of course.” Black released Draco and stepped back, looking sheepish as he patted his pockets. He took out one of the vials and held it up to the light. “I’ve got to save these for when I need ‘em, eh?”

“Just make sure to save them for someone who deserves them,” Draco advised.

“Master Draco…” Black frowned thoughtfully and gave Draco a look that reminded him of Narcissa in her rose garden. “If you wouldn’t mind my asking a question…”

“Just be quick about it.”

“You’re a proper wizard. A powerful one! You don’t need these…” he held the vial up with his right hand and tapped it with his left “…like I do. So, why are you here?”

Draco shrugged. “It was supposed to be a lark, something to show this lot…” he gestured to the three toddlers “…that I don’t care about the rules or what anyone thinks.”

Black’s eyebrows drew together, and his lips pursed in concentration as he pondered Draco’s answer. “But, if you don’t care what they think, why show them?”

“I don’t expect you to understand. Now, I have to get them back to the Slytherin common room before anyone else notices. And don’t worry. I plan to take all the credit.” He took one of Theodore’s hands in his left and one of Blaise’s in his right. Millicent he nudged along with his foot, ignoring her silent protests. “I look like bloody Molly Weasly in Diagon Alley,” he muttered, eliciting a laugh from Black. 

The four Slytherins made painfully slow progress but were able to move in the right direction. As they neared the Slytherin dungeon, Draco felt a sharp tug on his hand. 

“What happened?” Blaise asked. His eyes were large and dark, and with his chubby cheeks and curly hair, he looked like the kind of cherub a girl might coo over. 

“There was an accident,” Draco said simply. 

“Why?” Theodore asked. 

“Because I dropped some potions. Hurry up!” The latter was said to Millicent, who had stopped to gawk at one of the sleeping portrait subjects. He dropped Blaise’s hand and took hers instead, tugging her and Theodore along and trusting Blaise to follow. 

“I want to play some more!” Blaise whined. 

“You can play in the common room!” Draco growled. This started Millicent silently crying again, which made Theodore shriek, necessitating yet another silencing spell. “Don’t make me carry you,” Draco warned. “You know better than to cross me.” 

Blaise nodded. Draco wasn’t sure what older memories Blaise retained, but he suspected they involved being threatened in the train compartment. A few moments later, Draco spoke the password and dragged three unhappy brats into the Slytherin common room. The first years had gone, leaving Pansy and Daphne with the room to themselves. Both girls wore expressions of utter confusion. 

“What happened to the others?” Daphne asked. “And who are the kids?” 

“Look a bit closer.” Draco smirked, enjoying the girls’ looks of horror as they recognized their friends. “It isn’t permanent, so don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“Oh, Millie!” Daphne hugged the three-year-old Millicent, drying the toddler’s tears with the hem of her robe. 

“At least the insanity potion has worn off. I think.” Draco sank into one of the sofas, pulling Pansy with him. 

“It is rather funny,” Pansy admitted. “And I suppose it qualifies as something fun.” 

Daphne had taken charge of the afflicted trio and was playing a game with them on the far side of the common room. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Draco said. “It really was rather inspired.” 

“Don’t be smug.” She elbowed him playfully and then stood up, pulling him with her. “My room?” 

He nodded slowly and let her tug him along as he had tugged Theodore down the hallway. This is what I should have done with Potter. If I had known that morning would be our last together, I would have taken him to my room at home. It would have been right that time, with no broken glass and no Janus in the other room. It could have been perfect. One last, perfect time. 

 

End of Chapter 40


	41. Something You Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Eris and I do hope that you all are enjoying the story. This chapter and chapter 40 were written together, and in the editing process, we decided to break it all down into two separate chapters. Alot of things happening in this chapter and the plot does continue to thicken with our characters. Thank you for your kudos and and the comments on this story.
> 
> Lyrics : "Another Brick In the Wall" by Pink Floyd.

Chapter 41 : Something You Need

 

Ginny wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of the potions classroom. The air burned and tickled her nostrils like a mixture of smoke and firewhisky fumes. Most of her classmates had taken their seats and were eagerly fiddling with the reagents and glassware arranged at each table. Luna, Colin, and a few other eager students had filled the first three rows of tables, while Romilda, Dean, and the less academically inclined had congregated to the back. Ginny sat down at an empty table in the second-to-last row, opened her book, and pretended to be engrossed in a recipe for Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction.

“—an absolutely rubbish summer,” Romilda was saying. “Mum and dad were completely paranoid, as if Death Eaters were going to jump out from around every bloody corner. I barely got to do anything fun.” 

“I thought not being chased by Death Eaters was fun,” Dean commented dryly. 

Romilda muttered something in response that Ginny didn’t hear. Movement caught her eye as a boy sat down beside her and began twirling a glass stirring rod between his fingers. She glanced at him out of the corner or her eye, not wanting to look up and get dragged into a conversation. What did you do this summer? she imagined someone asking. Oh, nothing much. Just stood by as Harry dumped me for Draco Malfoy, watched the two of them make eyes at each other in my own house, and then rescued Draco’s mother from a rampaging madman who I let get away. What about you? Read any good books? She scowled down at the book, wishing the boy would take a hint and go away. 

He must be new, she thought, glancing again at the boy. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, and deeply set brown eyes beneath eyebrows that were just a bit too bushy, as if a pair of fat caterpillars had crawled onto his face. Dark brown hair hung in unruly ringlets around his ears and forehead, proving him either too clumsy to use a comb or too stupid to realize that girls wouldn’t be lining up to run their fingers through his curls. He tugged nervously on his Slytherin tie with his left hand while still twirling the stirring rod with his right. She could feel his eyes on her and could see his too-friendly smile on the edge of her field of vision. 

“Been attacked by thoughts?” he asked. 

She sat up and turned to face him, flushing and shaking her head. “Why would you say that?” 

“You’re reading about Dr. Ubbly’s.” The boy pointed to her book. “It’s a tricky one to make, but handy for healing scars from thoughts.”

“I don’t have any scars,” she said flatly. “I’m fine.” 

“Good, good,” he murmured. The stirring rod sparkled as it rolled over his index finger, middle finger, ring finger, and back again in what must be an obnoxious nervous tick.

“Dangerous things, thoughts. Worse in their own way than moonseed poison.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Ginny lied. Thoughts of Harry snogging Draco, memories of a leering man with yellow teeth, Ron crushed beneath a couch, friends lost in battle. Her mind was littered with shrapnel. 

“Exploding potion, now there’s one worth the trouble!” the boy mused. “Why bother with the hassle of a euphoria elixir when you can cheer yourself up with a few good bangs, eh?” 

Ginny fought back a smile, imagining Draco’s skull shattering. It was Phillipe who deserved it more, but somehow using it on Draco would be more satisfying. The corners of her mouth twitched involuntarily.

“Ah, a girl after my own heart!” the boy nodded smugly. “What’s your favorite potion, then? Garroting gas? Malevolent mixture? Baneberry potion?” 

“I’m beginning to wish I had some jawbind potion,” she muttered. The boy’s cheerfulness was wearing on her nerves. 

“I see.” His eyebrows drew together, which made it look as if the two caterpillars were about to wrestle. 

“Don’t bother with Weasley,” Romilda called from the back row. “She’s been in a funk all day. You can sit back here with us.” 

Ginny looked over her shoulder to see Romilda simpering and scooting her chair away from Dean to make way for the new boy. 

“You really can,” Ginny agreed, gesturing to the back table. 

The boy grinned, making dimples on both sides of his mouth. “I’m flattered by the offer, but class is about to start.” 

“The old geezer isn’t even here yet!” Romilda protested. “At least tell us your name.” 

“My name? Ah, yes, I suppose for the next seven minutes you can call me ‘A.J.’ ‘A.J.’ will do nicely.” 

“What happens in seven minutes?” Ginny asked, curiosity getting the better of her. 

The boy leaned toward her and smiled so broadly that she found herself smiling, too. From up close, his eyebrows weren’t too bushy after all, she decided. In fact, they were just the right size for his eyes, which were a bit too large for his face and gave him a puppy-like quality. “After seven minutes, you’d better call me ‘Professor Jigger’.” With that, he rose from his seat and strode to the front of the room. “If I may have your attention?” he called and rapped once on the chalkboard hard enough to silence most of the chatter that had pervaded the room. 

“Professor?” Ginny repeated under her breath. 

“You’re a tad young to be a professor!” Jimmy Peakes called. “Better sit down before the old man catches you in his spot.” 

“Your attention!” A.J. repeated in a deeper voice. “I will have your attention now and whenever I am speaking, or you will find yourselves scrubbing cauldrons with a toothbrush. In my day, students showed respect for their betters!” 

Students glanced at one another, frowning, shrugging, and finally nodding as comprehension dawned. Ginny met A.J.’s eyes, which had receded further into his head and were now crowned with silver-speckled caterpillars. She shook her head in disapproval. Typical deceitful man. As if I’d wanted to make friends with him anyway. 

“That’s better!” The professor flashed another dimple-generating grin as he surveyed the silent class. “What you see before you—“ here he squared his shoulders and gestured to his own body “—is no glamour or illusion, nor am I a metamorphmagus! This--” He raised a fist in a body-builder’s pose that would have been more impressive if his hands weren’t beginning to show liver spots. “—this is reality transformed! Youth, in all its glory, recaptured through the art of potions!” The dimples in his smile had become deep, long creases, and though he still reminded Ginny of a puppy, he resembled one of the ugly, heavy-jowled breeds. His eyebrows had burgeoned into wispy white feathers, and his hair had retreated from the top of his head as if running away from his face, leaving behind a few stragglers on each side that kept company with the whiskers that now sprouted out of his ears. 

The sound of stifled laughter spread through the class. Students turned red with repressed giggles, some stuffing their fists in their mouths to avoid a full-fledged chortle. 

Professor Jigger slumped and waved a hand in front of his own face, scowling. “Blasted thing wore off early, did it? Well, never mind then. Page thirty-seven of your texts, all of you! The instructions for draught of peace are in plain English—let’s see how many of you can follow them. Deviate from the procedure, and you might be missing a finger by the end of class. Follow directions, and you’ll have something nice to take home.” He met Ginny’s eyes when he said that, and she looked down at her book, her face heating. 

I don’t need draught of peace. And I don’t need a professor feeling sorry for me. 

\------------------------------------

We don't need no education  
We don't need no thought control…

The man strode down the hallway, humming the words to the tune blasting through the small speakers and into his ears. His fingers snapped to the beat of the song before pretending to hammer out the beat on a set of invisible drums. 

We don't need no education  
We don't need no thought control  
No dark sarcasm in the classroom  
Teachers leave them kids alone  
All in all it’s just another brick in the wall. All in all you’re another brick in the wall

A slender finger touched the button on the silver case that clipped onto the side of the denim fabric, cutting the music short before the finale of the song. Pulling the headset off and letting it rest around his neck, the man stopped at the door and listened to the chatter coming from the other side. He smiled as he laid a hand on the doorknob and waited for the perfect opportunity to make his entrance.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“Wonder how long this one will last,” Ron muttered, tapping his fingers on the desk.

“What?” Harry turned to face him, pulling his eyes away from Draco, Blaise, and Pansy, who occupied one of the tables in the back of the room. Draco’s mouth moved, but from this distance, Harry couldn’t make out the words. Blaise and Pansy both laughed, but Draco continued to scowl.

“You know, it’s Defense Against the Dark Arts! This new bloke, Professor Valarian, or Venetian, or whatever he’s called, how long will he last, and what’s going to happen to him?”

“You’re being morbid.” Hermione slapped Ron on the arm. “Whoever Professor Vulpin is, he or she will be fine. I think when Voldemort died, he took the curse with him.” She rested her chin on her left fist, facing the slate board with an expression of intense anticipation. Her right hand fidgeted with the cover of one of her books, opening and closing it.

“Maybe he’ll die of boredom, then.” Ron quipped. “One thing’s for sure. He definitely doesn’t know what time class starts. He’s ten minutes late!”

Harry looked down at his stack of books, seeking a distraction from the conversation, which had started a parade of faces in his mind. Quirrel, Lockhart, Lupin, Moody, Umbridge, Snape, and Carrow- the best and the worst--mostly the worst--of people had stood in front of that slate board. Trying to banish the faces from his mind, he focused on the bold, bright lettering on the spines of the books. A Friendly Introduction to Curses sounded dubious, although no more so than Occlumency Done Right and Legilimency for Dummies. The Schaum’s Guide to Nonverbal Spells had been on the “optional reading” list, so Harry hadn’t bought it, though of course Hermione had, and her copy was already sprouting several bookmarks.

The squeal of the door opening rang from the back of the room, startling the students to silence.

Harry craned his neck to see a man striding down the center of the room. He wore a wizard’s robe that opened in the front, exposing the solid crimson shirt underneath. Clipped at the neck of the shirt was a hideous red and blue tie with a strange looking bird that carried a brown oblong-shaped ball under one wing. The shirt was tucked into a pair of faded jeans, the cuffs of which brushed the tops of his white lace-up shoes. As the man passed the table in the back room, Draco growled, “You!” which caused the man to roll his eyes at Draco and flash a grin at Harry.

“The word ‘you” is a personal pronoun, Mr. Malfoy. It is not my name.” The man winked at Draco before continuing on, humming the lyrics to the tune that had played on the headphone, even spouting out one of the lines, “All in all you’re just another brick in the wall.”

When the man had reached the front of the room, he snatched a piece of chalk from the tray beneath the slate board and wrote in quick sweeping strokes before moving away to display what he had written. The name “Janus Vulpin” stood out sharply against the black slate. Harry stared at the letters as if they were coiled, poisonous snakes. His face heated as he remembered a steamed-up bathroom and a towel that had fallen to the floor. After Draco and possibly Phillipe Moreaux, Janus was the last person Harry wanted to see.

“Always wanted to do that,” Janus muttered, jerking his thumb at the name. “Professor Janus Vulpin, at your service.” He made a slight bow to the class, as the headphones fell forward and covered his tie. “Oops,” he said, unclipping the silver case from the waist of his faded denim trousers, pulling the headset from around his neck, and placing the device upon his desk.

Turning back to face his students, Janus grinned broadly at the bewilderment on most of the students’ faces. “A portable CD player. Wonderful gift from Professor Weasley. He has tinkered with it so that it works inside of Hogwarts, with the headmistress’ approval. Otherwise, I’d be without my music, and you wouldn’t like me without my music. 

“Down to business,” he said gripping the clip-on tie and tossing it onto his desk. “Ah, wait for it,” Janus said, pointing his index finger toward the tie. “That’s not an ordinary tie.” Several seconds later a puff of smoke erupted from the tie, causing it to float into the air and transform into a miniature red lion with a blue mane. The small lion roared, as it shook its mane from side to side before taking up a pace along the edge of the wooden desk. “Cats, you gotta love them.” He eyed Draco at the back of the room, making the Slytherin squirm in his chair. 

“Now, you all can call me ‘professor’ or ‘Professor Vulpin’ to my face and whatever you want behind my back, once you master Occlumency. In the meantime, what you need to know about me is this… I. Know. Everything. Remember that, and we’ll get along just fine.” He patted the front pockets of his robe, as if searching for something important. “Here we are,” he smiled, pulling out a series of small index cards from the pocket. “Let’s see,” he muttered, reading over the cards. “Our learning objective for this class is…I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to…brew glory? Put a stopper to death?” He scratched the back of his head, while staring at the cards in puzzlement. “Ah, I remember now. These are my old Potions note cards. Well, hell, I don’t need these old things.” He tossed the cards in the air and watched as the slips of paper quickly shredded into tiny pieces. He chuckled to himself, but the joke was lost on the rest of the class. 

“Boy, tough crowd!” He cleared his throat and turned to write on the slate board once again. “Our objective will be the learning of the practical usage of advanced defensive spells and their counterparts,” he wrote on the board, causing small white flakes of chalk to land on his black robe. “Also, to practice and to master all of the uses of Legilimency and Occlumency, and to perfect our usage of complicated non-verbal spells, in practical, defensive settings.” A loud crack, shot through the room and Professor Vulpin looked at the broken piece of chalk that his fingers clutched. “Huh? Guess they don’t make them like they used to.” 

He turned to face the class. “Are you all going to sit there with your mouths hanging open, or are you going to copy this stuff down? A scramble of parchment and quills followed as each student hurriedly wrote down what was written on the board. 

“Now, I’ve had a brief history lesson on your former professors, and I have to say that you all have had quite a lineup. However, for me, I prefer a hands-on style of teaching, rather than reading and droning on and on about what some old out of date textbook says. I prefer a practical approach.” Janus walked to the desk, pulled out the chair, turned it around, and placed it in front of the class. He straddled it, resting his forearms on the back of the chair. “I prefer to hear from my students. I want to know your minds and discuss our work. ” He got up from the chair, and walked toward the middle of the room, feeling all of the eyes of the class upon him. “So, an open discussion it will be. I won’t bore you with an endless lecture. If you have something to say, simply raise your hand. I want us all to participate, because that’s how you learn; by talking things over and hearing about different opinions.” He smiled and spread his arms outward. “I want you all to be my padawans.” 

A soft murmur spread through the class as each student repeated the word. Several students made circling motions with their fingers near their temples. Others stared dumbstruck at the new professor. 

“Oh come on, guys!” Janus pleaded, letting his arms fall to his side. “You really don’t know what that means?” Most of the students shook their heads, while some did not do anything, except to continue to whisper the word on their lips. “Alright, we’ll make this fun then.” The professor rubbed his hands together vigorously. He walked back to the front of the classroom, and placed a foot on the edge of the seat of his chair. “For thirty house points, who can guess the closest to what a ‘padawan’ is?”

Slowly, several hands raised into the air with nervous expressions etched on the faces of those individual students. A small twinkle danced in Janus’ eyes as he looked around the classroom. “Alright, it’s a start. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” He walked to his left, acknowledging the lone hand that was raised. “Yes? 

The young man lowered his hand. “The name’s Seamus Finnigan, sir.”

Professor Vulpin waved his hand at the young student. “Please, you don’t have to call me sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Seamus replied. 

Professor Vulpin rolled his eyes and let out an “oh” before regaining himself and motioning for Seamus to continue with his answer. “Is it a type of dragon, sir?”

“Ugh! Some habits are so hard to break,” Janus said, holding his hand against his forehead and shaking his head. He deeply exhaled, chuckled a bit and looked up at the Gryffindor. “No, Seamus. It’s not a dragon.” He gazed around the classroom, looking for the next student to be called upon. His eyes came to rest on Draco, even though the Syltherin hadn’t raised his hand. “Mr. Malfoy. Would you like to participate? Or would you rather sit there sulking?”

Draco’s cheeks flushed, and his upper lip quivered with silent anger. “Is it another name for a stupid, mangy, bloody American lunatic that has a split personality disorder?” Draco smirked, and Janus’ mouth hung open, momentarily silenced by the answer. 

Quickly, he recovered, closing his mouth and forcing a short bark like laugh from his mouth. “Most definitely not. By the way, Mr. Malfoy, that was a most ingenious answer,” Janus replied, as Draco ignored the pats on his shoulder from his fellow Slytherin classmates. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss your theories with me tomorrow night at 7pm. Let’s make it a date, shall we?”

“Professor?” Hermione asked, raising her hand and shaking it in the air. “Is it …someone who is an apprentice?” She asked, not waiting for her name to be called. 

Janus slowly turned, beaming at the young woman. “That it is. Absolutely correct. How did you know?” 

Hermione blushed. “Well, my father has these old movies and comics that I’ve seen before. In them a young boy receives training from his mentor. This person refers to the young boy as a padawan.”

“Remarkable! Yes, I consider all of you my apprentices, and it is my job to train you into full-fledged knights. So, thirty house points to…”

“Gryffindor,” Hermione said, beaming with excitement. 

Harry ignored Hermione’s squeal of delight. An unwelcome jolt had gone through him when he and Janus briefly locked eyes. Suddenly, Harry felt as if he wanted to be anywhere but here in this room. He glanced at Draco again. The Slytherin had turned red and folded his arms across his chest, ignoring Pansy, who was trying to whisper something in his ear.

“Now Legilimency is the…” Vulpin started.

Motion in the periphery of Harry’s vision caught his eye, and he turned to see Hermione vigorously waving her hand in the air. She cleared her throat loudly before giving up and calling, “Professor Vulpin!”

“Yes, Miss Granger?” The professor called, sounding tired already.

“Sir, Legilimency has never been taught at Hogwarts. On page seven of--“she winced as she said the title “--Legilimency for Dummies, it even says that, and I quote, ‘Even experts disagree on whether Legilimency is a dark art. Although not widely considered Unforgiveable, the incantation Legilimens is usually legally restricted and violates the code of conduct of most major organizations. To put it simply, it’s not a nice thing to do.” 

“Bravo, Miss Granger!” Janus said, clapping with applause. “A perfect textbook answer if I’ve ever heard one.” He paced in front of the board, his chin in his fist in an exaggerated thoughtful pose. “So, it’s not a nice thing to do. Well then, I suppose that in a perfect world we don’t have to worry about anyone doing it.” Abruptly, he scraped his fingernails across the slate board, eliciting an ear-piercing shriek that had all of the students covering their ears and wincing. “Now, that wasn’t a nice thing to do either, was it?” 

“Sir, I didn’t mean…” Hermione said, recovering from the assault upon her hearing.

“We don’t live in a perfect world. Far from one, actually!” He walked over to his desk and tossed the piece of chalk down with vigor. The lighting in the room dimmed, as if an eclipse were happening outside. Janus looked down at the broken piece of chalk and frowned as if collecting his thoughts. Bringing his eyes back from his desk, he stared directly at Hermione. “Tell me, Hermione. What is your opinion of the world that we live in? Is it a nice and kind world, to you?”

“It’s not nice, sir. But we should be. If we start doing bad things just because there are bad people…” she trailed off. 

“It’s not a matter of good and bad people. There’s no line between the dark side and the light. It’s all shades of grey!” He grabbed the piece of chalk and hurried over to the board. “Defense,” he said, scribbling the word on the board. “That’s what this is about. Your best chance to survive is your very own defense, and that starts right here in this room.”

Janus ran his fingers through his hair, took off his black wizard’s robe, and tossed it over to his desk. “Alright,” he began in a calmer voice. “Now, according to you, Miss Granger, we shouldn’t use Legilimency, because it’s bad. Even though there may be a Death Eater reject loose from Nurmengard running around out there. Who knows? There may be a vile wizard or witch lurking somewhere, just waiting for you. Bad guys don’t always wear black capes.” He fingered the dark fabric of his own robe. “Are you telling me that it’s better to not use Legilimency against any of these people? What if they have their wand pointed at you, huh? Expelliarmus and other jinxes and charms won’t always be there to save the day. Remember, it’s called Defense Against the Dark Arts for a reason. And in a situation like this, you’re best offense is your defense. Legilimens can be the difference between life and Avada Kedavra. Wouldn’t you like to know what your opponent is going to do, so that you will know how to counteract it? It’s chess at its finest, but with one prestige. You can have the advantage.”

All of the Slytherins and at least half of the other students were nodding in agreement with Janus. Some of them chuckled at Hermione for finally being put in her place. 

“So you’re argument is that the end justifies the means?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “Even if it is morally wrong?

“Legilimens!” Janus said the incantation, apparently ignoring Hermione’s question. After a moment’s pause, he smiled, looking first toward the back of the class. “I see some of you have broken things--potions glassware, hearts, mirrors…” He paced across the room and waved a hand in a gesture that included the whole class. “Someone’s been cheating in their Potions class, buying the pre-brewed stuff at Mulpepper’s and passing it off as his…or her…own work.” The students all gave each other suspicious looks, and some of them laughed nervously. “Course, some of you have been doing a different kind of cheating.” Janus winked at no one in particular. The room fell silent, with some pupils scowling and others flushing. “And the things…the things you kids do in the Room of Requirement these days, its…” His face contorted in a melodramatic parody of disgust. “Aw, that’s just wrong! I mean where’d you even learn--No! I don’t want to know.” He shuddered like a dog shaking off water.

Janus moved across the room and put his palms on the table in front of Hermione. “My argument, Miss Granger, is that if I can walk inside that pretty little head of yours and stomp around, so can other people. However, some people will not exactly wipe their feet before they come in. When we outlaw teaching Legilimency, only outlaws will be Legilimens.

“So, you make your choice.” Janus took a step back and spread his arms in an expansive gesture. “You want to be a conscientious objector, you go right ahead. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out. If you want to learn how to protect yourself from the guys who don’t care much about the nice thing to do, you stay here. Which is it, Hermione?”

Hermione tensed, standing up partway before sitting down again. “Good!” Janus applauded softly. “Very good. Now we can move forward to the practical part of Legilimency, before I turn you all loose with the reading material, since we’ve had our discussion about the subject. And except for Ms. Granger here, I know that none of you have read the material yet. I need a volunteer, please!”

He scanned the room for raised hands, but most of the students were sitting on their hands or had them hidden under their armpits. “Oh come now, this is the best part of D.A.D.A.”

A loud snort came from Draco. “Do you have any idea of what class was like with Carrow? Only an idiot would volunteer for a Dark Arts demonstration.” 

Janus grinned as he stood by his desk, his fingers lightly stroking his wand. “Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Malfoy. Please step this way.” Draco ignored the man, looking away from him and staring at the blank wall. Janus’ next words came out in a strange, twangy parody of an American accent. “What we’ve got here is…failure to communicate. Some people you just can’t reach, which is what we have right here. Which is the way he wants it…well, he’ll get it.”

“No, and you can’t make me,” Draco huffed, continuing to stare at the wall.

Janus cleared his throat and returned to his normal voice. “As your professor I can, by the power vested in me by the headmistress, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and by the Minister of Magic, himself,” Janus replied. “You will step forward and participate, or else you will have so many detentions that you will never see the grass of a Quidditch pitch this year.” 

Janus waited as Draco fumed in his seat. Blaise whispered something in his ear, and Pansy gave him a shove in Janus’ direction.

“If you do anything to me, I’ll be sure you’re sacked and sent back to that hole in America that you came from,” Draco growled, standing beside his chair and pointing a finger at Janus.

Janus’ smile broadened as Draco walked forward, brandishing his wand as he strode past his professor. “Fair enough for me, Draco.” He picked his wand up from the desk and turned to face the Slytherin. “Now, I want you to attack me.”

Janus watched as a cruel smile crept on Draco’s face. “Come on, tough guy. Hit me with your best shot.” Janus tapped his chest as he sang the last few words.

He saw the anticipation in Draco’s eyes as the Slytherin’s wand circled in the air above his head. Draco’s lip curled into an angry snarl. “Con--“ Calmly, Janus flicked his wand and streams of silver rope flew from the tip, wrapping around the Slytherin’s arms and mouth, causing his wand to fall harmlessly to the floor. 

“Legilimens, ladies and gentlemen,” Janus said, walking toward Draco and extending his hand in recognition as if he were a ring leader promoting a death-defying circus act. “And now you have a practical example of Legilimens in a defensive exhibition.” He smiled and winked at Draco, as he circled the struggling Slytherin, picking up the fallen wand. “Oh, please don’t thank me, Mr. Malfoy; it was my honor to present that to you. Now tell me, and tell your fellow classmates as well, just what curse you were going to cast at me.” With a casual flick of his own wand, Janus watched as the silver rope disappeared from around Draco. 

“Confringo!” he spat. 

“Draco!” Hermione shouted, rising from her chair. “You can’t use a blasting spell on a professor!”

“Stuff it, Granger!” Draco hissed, putting his wand back into his robes. “We both know that he’s not a professor. “

“Oi! You can’t speak to Hermione like that!” Ron shouted, rising from his desk. 

“And what are you going to do Weasel-bum? Go and run to your poor mommy for comfort?” Draco said, a faint trace of a smirk returning to his face.

Janus leaned forward on his desk, his arms rigid and tense. As he looked out at the class, his eyes flashed black. His cheek muscles twitched, and Harry remembered him throwing Draco into the bedroom.

“That’s enough, Draco!” Harry shouted. “Ron, sit back down, and let’s get through the rest of this class, alright?” Before Professor Vulpin kills someone.

Janus swallowed, took a deep breath, and stood up straight. A forced smile spread across his face. “I concur, Harry. That is quite enough, for one day.” Janus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well it seems that my small exhibition has placed everyone’s nerves on edge,” he continued, walking back to the board and pocketing his wand. “So here’s what I will do. I’ll let you take the rest of the period off, with the understanding that you’ll have the assignment down by tomorrow.” He turned his back and scribbled on the board, jotting down titles and page numbers before moving aside so the students could copy.

As Harry and the other students dutifully copied the page numbers, Janus sat at his desk, took out a ledger, and began scribbling with a Muggle pen. Slowly, he slid his eyes upward from the note in the ledger, briefly glancing at Draco, before turning to the window. “One final announcement before class ends,” Janus said, not bothering to look at any of the students. “Mr. Malfoy, after reviewing my calendar, I will have to re-schedule our time together.” The writing in the room came to a sudden stop. Janus paused before he continued, listening to the slight fidgeting that some of the students made in their chairs while they awaited the remainder of his announcement. “I’m afraid that I have a much better looking date that night. Sorry old man, I’m sure you understand. Shall we say 7pm Friday night, instead?”

In a courtyard outside, a bell rang out signaling the end of the class. As the pupils packed up their books and began to leave, Janus called, “Wait! One more thing. I catch any of you doing Legilimency outside this room; there’ll be hell to pay.” He smiled as the students began to file out toward the door. 

Several students, mostly Slytherins, cringed, but pansy Parkinson laughed loudly and said in a stage whisper. “What’s he going to do to us? He’s a teacher! McGonagall wouldn’t let him hurt us. The old bat hasn’t got it in her!”

“He’s too crazy to care what McGonagall thinks,” Draco said, meeting Janus’ eyes as he said it. “I’m not sure what he is, just yet, but he’s not a teacher. Come on.” He took Pansy by the arm and jerked his head toward the doorway. Blaise followed the two of them out, followed by Ron and Hermione.

Harry trailed after his friends, not wanting to be alone with Janus.

 

\---------------------------------------------

Outside the potions classroom, Ginny held her vial to the light and admired the silver swirls inside before tucking it into her pocket. Romilda offered hers to Dean, who pushed her hand away in irritation as he scowled at the burned patches on his robe. 

Romilda shrugged and put her vial in a satchel with her books. “It really wasn’t hard if you followed instructions.” 

“Maybe if our professor had actually tried to teach us something instead of falling asleep at his desk, I would have been able to!” Dean snapped. 

“He only fell asleep because of the fumes from the disaster in Natalie’s cauldron.” Ginny glanced back into the potions classroom and saw that Natalie herself was just now recovering and was staggering out of the classroom on the arm of Jimmy Peakes. 

“You’re only defending the old geezer because he fancies you. ‘What’s your favorite potion’?” Romilda mocked in an overwrought voice that sounded nothing like A.J. 

“Shut up. He only sat next to me because there was an empty seat.” 

“And you liked him too, didn’t you? Before you knew he was, you know, a few hundred years old. Right?” Romilda elbowed Ginny as they started down the hallway. 

“I think you’re the one who liked him.” She elbowed Romilda back, perhaps a trifle harder than was necessary. 

“Ginny knows how to pick ‘em, doesn’t she?” Dean mused. “Flirting with a Slytherin who turns out to be a professor, dating Harry Potter, who turns out to be—“ 

“Dating you, who turns out to be a prat!” Ginny interjected. Her face had flushed, and she stuffed her hands in her pockets to hide the fact that they shook with rage. 

Romilda laughed hard at Ginny’s barb and rewarded her with another friendly elbow to the ribs. They had come to an intersection, and Ginny made a sharp right. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Dean called. “Class is this way!” 

“I’m going to a different class!” she called over her shoulder, walking rapidly in the other direction. She would have to put up with endless teasing about taking divination once they found out, but she had had enough for today. 

At the top of the divination staircase, Professor Rivail stood talking to a student, her hand on the person’s shoulder, her body obscuring Ginny’s view of the student. As Ginny made her way up the staircase, she heard the professor’s strong, melodic voice. 

“—sense a greatness in you!” the professor was saying. “I do!”

“But the poe stones…” the student protested. 

“Show only one of the infinite possibilities in the multiverse!” Professor Rivail waved her arm, the flowing sleeve of her purple paisley robe trailing dramatically. “There are many methods of divination because each of us has an endless array of paths before us. Why, anyone with a day’s training in moleosophy could see that you are marked with the potential to change the world. The question is whether you will take the hand of fate when it is offered.” 

“What if…” The student looked down at his shoes. Ginny had ascended to a place on the stairs where she could make out his face, and she was surprised to see that it was Blaise Zabini. She stopped and leaned on the railing, not wanting to interrupt their conversation. “What if fate already offered me the chance and I threw it away?”

“Nonsense!” Professor Rivail laughed theatrically.

“It’s not nonsense, Professor! I, I ran…”

“From the Battle of Hogwarts,” Rivail finished. “I know. The spirits told me, and I think nothing less of you for it.” 

“If I had chosen a side, I could have…”

“Died or ended up maimed, Mr. Zabini.” 

“Or it could have been me being cheered at the feast! I could have been a hero, Professor. You said yourself there are infinite possibilities.”

“Yes, but there are subtleties, certain fixed points. There are infinitely many ways you could have been destroyed in the battle. This is why the spirits guided you toward the Room of Requirement on that day. You made a wise choice in saving yourself, one that bodes well for your future.” Rivail squeezed his shoulder and then moved her hand to his back and gave a gentle push. “We can talk another day, Mr. Zabini. I have other students eager to begin class.” 

Blaise’s eyes widened and then narrowed when he saw Ginny on the staircase. “If you tell anyone I’m taking divination, you’ll pay for it!” 

“I’ll tell everyone,” Ginny promised. “Send me a bill!” 

She entered the classroom, Luna and Harper following on her heels. A few other students had already taken their seats in the upholstered chairs at the little tables. The room’s heavy curtains had been removed, revealing leaded glass windows that let in the afternoon sun. The shelves had been cleared of Trelawney’s dust and clutter and were now sparsely decorated with sparkling crystals, a few freshly polished tea sets, and a collection of carved wooden boxes. The lower shelf was reserved for books, most of which had glossy, modern-looking jackets. Ginny read a few of the titles: A Haruspex’s Guide to Gut Feelings, Lifting the Cloud: Nephomancy for Beginners, and Dust in the Wind: What Abacomancy Can Do for You. All of those were by Rivail herself, and they were interspersed with a hodgepodge of other works on divination and general magic. 

Ginny took a seat at one of the empty tables, set her book bag down, and picked up one of the half-moon-shaped, red-lacquered wooden objects that sat on the tablecloth in front of her. Each table had two pairs of the things. The one she held had a flat front side and a curved back side, each side carved with mysterious runes and what might be Chinese writing. The thing felt warm to the touch and seemed to twitch in her hand as if it wanted to move but wasn’t quite sure where to go. 

“Poe stones!” Professor Rivail called from the front of the room, causing Ginny to jerk her head up and focus on the teacher. “The objects you see before you are poe stones, and they are the first of the many, many divination techniques you will learn this year. Can anyone tell me how they work?” 

Ginny shook her head quietly and glanced around the room to see Luna raising her hand. The professor gestured to Luna who said, “My father says they have pixie larvae inside of them. But the runes prevent the pixies from hatching, which makes them angry. That’s why you can’t trust a poe stone to give you a straight answer.” 

“That’s an interesting theory, Miss…” Rivail frowned for a moment as if trying to divine Luna’s name. 

“Lovegood,” Luna supplied. “Luna Lovegood, Professor.” 

“A lovely name for a lovely and creative girl!” Professor Rivail flashed a warm smile. “But can anyone tell me how we use poe stones? No? It’s simple, really. You must first meditate upon your question. I want you all to try, ‘Will I succeed in divination this year?’ Are you thinking of the question? Yes? Now, formulate an answer. I want you all to try, ‘I will succeed in divination this year.’ Fix the answer in your mind.”

Ginny closed her eyes, holding the poe stone in her hand and squeezing it until it hurt her palm. She had a different question and its accompanying answer in mind. 

“You all appear ready,” the professor continued. “Now, toss your two poe stones into the air—not too high, not too low. Toss them so they fall on the floor, not the table, and be sure not to hit any of your classmates. Be especially sure not to hit your teacher!” She grinned and held up her hands as if shielding herself. 

All around the room, little wooden arcs crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. One of Ginny’s landed curved side up, the other curved side down. 

Rivail paced the room, murmuring, “Good, good! I see many confirmations. If the stones fall with both flat sides up or both flat sides down, this means that the spirits have responded in the negative, but fear not! This may only mean that you need to reformulate your answer and toss the stones again. Luna, may I suggest, ‘I will make new friends in divination class?’ Harper, please try, ‘I will gain insights about myself in divination class.’” 

Ginny raised her hand. “Professor Rivail?” 

“Yes?” the professor tilted her head to one side, making her large crystal earrings jiggle and throw refracted rainbows across the room. 

“What happens if one falls flat-side-up and the other doesn’t?” Ginny braced herself for the answer, not wanting to hear it. 

Rivail shrugged. “It means that your answer has not been disconfirmed. Toss the stones again with the same answer in your mind. Three mismatched tosses in a row, and you will have your affirmation.” 

Ginny nodded. Her hands trembled as she picked up the stones and tossed them in the air again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them. The stones cupped together like a pair of hands with the thumbs and index fingers touching. One was round-side-up, unlike its partner. She muttered a curse and glanced up at Professor Rivail, but the teacher was too busy telling Luna to try “I will learn more about divination than I know today” to hear Ginny’s profanity. 

Maybe Luna’s right, and they are just angry pixies. Ginny tossed the pieces once more, knowing before they landed that the result would be one flat-side-up, one round-side-up. She fingered the vial in her pocket and considered taking a swig. 

The rest of the class seemed interminable. Having received her confirmation, she watched in boredom as some of her classmates learned that they would earn high marks, while others found that they would achieve personal growth. She took out the vial and twirled it in her fingers, unconsciously imitating Jigger’s flourishes with the stirring rod. The last few minutes of class dragged by as Professor Rivail read from the text, regaling them with the history and composition of poe stones without mentioning pixie larvae. 

When the lecture had ended, she rose to leave, but Professor Rivail caught her arm. “Stay a moment.” 

“Yes, Professor?” 

“You asked the stones a different question.” 

“Did the spirits tell you that?” Ginny asked, immediately admonishing herself for snapping at the teacher. 

Rivail laughed and shook her head. “No! They didn’t need to! No one would be upset about an affirmation that she will succeed in divination.”

“Of course,” Ginny murmured. “I’m sorry I didn’t do the lesson right, I just… there was something more important that I needed to know.” 

Rivail nodded. “You have been tested of late.” 

“You could say that,” Ginny agreed. The professor offered a sympathetic smile, and Ginny continued, “I was thinking about what Blaise said about throwing away a chance.” 

“And you heard what I told him. I don’t need to lecture you on the subtleties of divination, Miss…” 

Perversely, Ginny refused to supply her name, but to her surprise the professor finished, “Weasley.” 

The professor fingered a red orb that hung around her neck. “Miss Weasley, the tree of life has many tangled branches, but the roots of love grow deeply. There is no one chance—“

“I didn’t ask about love!” Ginny protested. 

“No?” Rivail arched an eyebrow. 

“No! It’s… hard to explain. I did something wrong, a lot of wrong things actually…” 

“Your secret is safe with me.” The professor leaned forward. “It is! Before I accepted the job here, I warned Headmistress McGonagall that I would need absolute confidentiality if I were to help the students of Hogwarts.” 

“Right.” Ginny took a deep breath. Her next words came out in a rush. “There was a man, a former Death Eater, who attacked my brother. I thought I had killed that man, but it turned out I hadn’t, and he nearly killed a friend of Harry’s, a man named Janus—“

“Janus Vulpin?” Rivail’s mouth twitched as she fought off a smile. 

“I don’t know his last name! Is that really important, Professor?” 

“You’ll feel better once you’ve attended Defense Against the Dark Arts.” The professor smiled cryptically. “If the poe stones told you that Janus Vulpin suffered any lasting harm—“

“That wasn’t what I asked either!” Ginny sighed in frustration. “I asked if Phillipe Moreaux, if the man I failed to kill, would kill many more people because I let him live.” 

“Then I was right.” Rivail nodded to herself. 

“About what?” Ginny asked before tagging on a belated, “Professor”. 

“Your question was about your love of your fellow man. A more selfless love than that which concerns most students your age, Miss Weasley. I am impressed with your character.” 

“But, Professor, the answer to my question was ‘yes’!” 

Rivial waved a hand, as she had done with Blaise. Ginny wondered if the woman chose her robes specifically so that they would stream dramatically each time she did that. “And did you ask how many innocents would die if you had killed Moreaux? I didn’t think so. Actions have consequences that reverberate through time, Ginevra. What if one of the people Moreaux kills were to be the next Voldemort?” 

“Is that what you’re saying—that we’re all better off because I didn’t finish him off that night?” Ginny asked. “If you’d let me try the poe stones again, we could find out for sure, couldn’t we?” 

“My next class is about to begin.” Rivail spread her hands helplessly. “But I will ask for you if that’s what you’d like.” 

Ginny nodded. “Thank you.” She felt a smile spread across her face. On impulse, she handed her vial to Professor Rivail. “It’s peace draught. Professor Jigger promised my batch is good, and you might be able to offer it to another student, someone who needs it more than I do.” 

The professor nodded her thanks. “Such generosity, Miss Weasley! The roots grow deep, indeed.”  
\----------------------------------------

“Think Vulpin really knows about the Room of Requirement?” Ron was saying. He scratched at the back of his neck and adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag.

“I don’t know.” Hermione frowned, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “What I do know is that I don’t enjoy being threatened. That…man doesn’t know the first thing about teaching a class! You don’t scare people into learning.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “He’s a dodgy sort, isn’t he?” He fiddled with his bag again, reached into it, and pulled out Occlumency Done Right. “I think I’m going to read this tonight, anyway, just to be on the safe side. You know, in case he really can get into our heads like he says. And maybe we can go to the library and see if they have any other books on mental defenses.”

They passed a wooden bench in the hallway, and Harry nearly tripped over the extended foot of Pansy Parkinson, who sat hip-to-hip with Draco.

“Ow!” Pansy wailed, pulling her left ankle up to her right knee so that her robes fell away from her legs, exposing sheer, knee-high black stockings. She rubbed her ankle ostentatiously, glaring at Harry. “Aren’t your bloody glasses thick enough? Watch where you’re going!”

“Here, let me see.” Draco reached for Pansy’s foot and traced the ankle with his fingers before pulling out his wand and murmuring. “Episkey.” Pansy tensed briefly and then flexed and extended her foot, nodding her approval at Draco.

“It’s better now,” Draco said, running his hand over Pansy’s ankle but looking at Harry. “Almost as if Potter hadn’t run into us at all.”

“I didn’t…” Harry took a deep breath, but it did nothing to lessen the rage. “She tried to trip me! It was deliberate.”

Pansy laughed. “What, you think you’re so important that I’d risk getting in trouble or getting my ankle broken just to trip you?” Even though she was sitting, she somehow managed to look down her nose at Harry.

Harry smiled at Draco. “So she doesn’t know, then.”

Draco rose from the bench, stepping on Pansy’s toes in the process and eliciting another yelp from her. Harry stepped back into the throng of students walking to class, and Draco shadowed him, shoving people away until they stood in the center of the hall with the crowd parting on either side of them like the current of a river flowing around a boulder.

“Don’t you dare!” Draco raised his index finger and shook it in Harry’s face. “No one will believe you. They’ll all think you’re delusional as well as perverted. You’ll be the one who pays, not me, I…”

“You’ll be going to class now,” Hermione said, stepping between them, her back to Harry.

“Yeah, and we’ll be going to the library to get those books, right Harry?” Ron asked, tugging at the sleeve of his robe.

“No.” Harry shook Ron off. “Go on, both of you.” He made a shoeing motion toward Ron and Hermione. He grinned at Draco. “I’ll be going to get some private tutoring from Janus.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

“Professor Vulpin?” Harry called, knocking on the heavy wooden door even though the office was open.

“Harry!” Janus got up from his chair and gestured for Harry to enter. “Make yourself at home!” He pointed to an upholstered chair in one of the corners.

“Thanks.” Harry entered and closed the door behind him. He looked around the room, noting the nail holes from the numerous tiny hooks where Dolores Umbridge had hung those horrible mewling plates. The only decoration Janus had brought was his picture of Old Trafford. His wizard’s robe hung on a coat rack, along with his hat and duster, and he wore faded trousers and a plain black tee shirt.

“What is it I can do for you?” Janus asked, sitting down on the front edge of his desk.

“Don’t you already know?” Harry quipped. “You are the expert in Legilimency.”

“Are you kidding?” Janus said smiling. “Minerva would have my hide, or at least cough up a hairball in my favorite shoe, if she though I read a student’s mind!” Janus shook his head.

“But in class…” Harry frowned and tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “You knew about the kids buying potions to cheat in class…”

“Because I noticed a whole shelf at Mulpepper’s devoted to potions from the standard curriculum. Heck, half that stuff isn’t even good for much, except driving students crazy trying to make it. Why would old Mulpepper be stocking it if not to aid the academically challenged?”

“Oh.” Harry found himself laughing. It was the last thing he had expected when he imagined seeing Janus again. “And the Room of Requirement? What is it you know about that?”

Janus shrugged. “I was here, remember? Just because I didn’t get to finish school doesn’t mean I didn’t hear a thing or two about what goes on in the R.O.R. I guessed human nature hadn’t changed much in the last couple decades. Judging from the looks on their faces, I’m thinkin’ I guessed right.”

“And people doing…other kinds of cheating…”

“Again, human nature. Life is conflict, and some people don’t like choosing. I don’t have to go rooting around in someone’s head to know that.” Janus paused, looking Harry in the eyes. “What I want to know is why you’re here.”

“I did the reading,” Harry said, tapping his book bag. “At least, most of it, the parts on using Legilimency to probe someone’s emotions and find out his secrets. I want to know how you do it on a strong Occlumens, someone with formal training and natural talent.”

“And this someone would be…” Janus raised an eyebrow.

“Does it matter?” Harry snapped.

“Does if you want my help.”

“It’s Draco.” Harry looked down at the floor. “If I could read his mind, if I could be sure he was telling the truth when he said we could never be together, then maybe I could…maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to see him with Pansy Parkinson.” His hands clenched on the armrests of the chair, digging into the soft upholstery until the hard wood beneath it hurt his fingertips.

“Huh.” Janus tapped his fingers on the desk. “Did you run this plan by your friends?”

“What do you think?” Harry laughed humorlessly. “You know what Hermione would say, and Ron, he wouldn’t understand.”

“Your friend isn’t exactly wrong about Legilimency being a dark art, especially when you’re using it on someone as twisted as Malfoy. You’re not going to like what you find in there. Besides, couldn’t you just, you know, move on?”

“I tried.” Harry felt his face start to heat and willed the excess blood out of his cheeks with a monumental effort.

“Fair enough.” Janus shrugged. He stood, rounded his desk, and dug in one of the drawers until he found an oblong, brown object, like a rugby ball, but with pointy ends. “Play catch with me, Harry!” He tossed the ball in a slow arc.

Instinctively, Harry reached for the ball as it flew toward him, wrapping his hands around it and noting the laces on the front and the dimpled feel of the leather. “So you’re not going to help me.” He tossed the ball back to Janus and stood.

“Didn’t say that, did I?” Janus threw the ball again. “But, we’re going to do it my way. And no one finds out about our private lesson. Got it?” He spread his hands expectantly after Harry caught the ball.

“Alright.” Harry tossed the ball again, and after a few iterations, they had found a comfortable rhythm of tossing and catching.

“Legilimency is tricky, Harry,” Janus said, effortlessly continuing the game of catch as he spoke. “Even on someone without training, it’s not trivial, and the more hard-headed the person, the harder it is to get through even innate defenses. You take someone like Draco and give him formal training in Occlumency, his thoughts are suddenly the gold in Fort Knox. Getting through is going to be tougher than brewing a batch of Baneberry potion. You know how to do that, by the way?”

“Brew Baneberry potion? Why? I don’t want to poison Draco or Pansy. I just want to see what he’s thinking.”

“I’m not asking you to make it!” Janus chuckled. “I’m asking you how to make it. You remember?”

“Well, you use a cauldron, and an alembic.” Harry bit his lip, trying to recall a long-ago lesson from Snape. Ron’s Baneberry potion had fizzed onto the floor, filling the room with noxious vapors and earning Ron detention for his incompetence. Harry had also received detention, supposedly for distracting Ron. “You triturate the baneberries, first, but not too hard, because the heat from the friction can damage the essence…”

As he wracked his brain for the details, Janus threw the ball with a swift, overhand stroke, sending it whizzing by, just out of Harry’s reach. He reacted too slowly, and the ball bounced off the wall behind him, falling to the floor. When he knelt to retrieve it, Janus pounced, taking Harry by the chin and tilting his face upwards.

What followed next was a barrage of images, sounds, smells, and emotions-- pain, a flash of light, Vernon Dursley, angry and red-faced, looming over him, the click of the closet door, the smell of fungus and peeling paint, Dudley’s laughter mingled with cartoon music from the other room.

“You…” Harry managed to get out.

Janus didn’t reply. His hazel eyes remained fixed on Harry’s as the journey continued. …let’s drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw. Not that I’m supposed to take sides as a teacher. The taste of butterbeer, and something sweeter, knowing that a grown-up cared about him. More images swirled in Harry’s mind--Lupin, speaking kindly to Neville, Lupin, pitting the students against the Boggart. Just when Harry thought his mind was trapped in some inescapable realm filled only with Remus Lupin, other memories began flying by. He relived Cedric’s death, his duel with Voldemort, his own torture at the hands of Dolores Umbridge in this very office, the search for the horcruxes, the sense of calm that came with marching to his own death.

“No…” Harry panted with effort. Trying to drag his mind back to the present was like swimming in molasses. He had to break free. He couldn’t let Janus see him on his hands and knees in the broken glass, trying not to scream as Draco took him. Thinking of the memory he most wanted to hide brought it to the surface, and Janus recoiled, letting go of Harry’s chin and falling down to his knees beside Harry.

“I didn’t mean to go there,” Janus said softly. “I didn’t mean to do more than touch, but once I was in…” Janus sat down and leaned back against the bookshelf, motioning for Harry to do the same. “Legilimency changes the way you see the world. Almost everyone around you has something you want, something you need, or something you can use, and when you know you can take it, well, there’ll be times you give in. Just like I took your memories of Remus. It was like seeing him again, Harry, but this time through your eyes.”

“I didn’t mind that part,” Harry said bitterly. “It was the rest…”

“I’m sorry!” Janus threw up his hands, palms out. “Some parts of your mind, they’re like whirlpools, sucking in everything that comes near. I tried to steer clear, but I won’t lie--it’s not smooth sailing in there.” He tapped Harry’s forehead with a finger.

“It’s over. It--it doesn’t matter.” Harry sighed and glanced up at Janus without quite meeting his eyes. “Just tell me how I can do to Draco, what you did to me.”

“It’s mostly distraction.” Janus picked the ball up off the floor and stood it on its end, twirling it between his knees. “That, and getting the target to lower his defenses. I could distract you by punching you in the face, but that would be counter-productive. You’d go into fight-or-flight and raise your guard. Playing catch, though, and trying to remember a potions lesson from second year, that’s not threatening; just hard.”

“So I find a way to distract him without hurting him.” Harry nodded to himself.

“Right,” Janus agreed. “Then you need eye contact, if you can make it. Physical contact is even better, and both never hurts. Cast the spell nonverbally without your wand, and you’ve got a good chance.”

“And manage all of that without being able to practice outside of class.” Harry snorted. “I’m beginning to think you only agreed to teach me because you know I’ll never really be able to do it.”

“Correction, Harry! Manage to do all that without getting caught practicing outside of class.” Janus winked. “Choose your practice targets carefully. Stick to the trusting types, people who won’t think too hard about what you’re doing. Get out as soon as you get in, and try to forget what you see.”

“How do you forget?”

“It gets easier. After a while, the inside of a mind starts to seem like, well, the other type of insides. Everybody’s pretty much look the same.” Janus leaned back against the bookshelf, moving his face into the path of a sunbeam. The light glared on his skin, highlighting dark circles under his eyes as well as the traces of age lines at the corners.  
Harry frowned, imagining what it would be like to peek into minds, seeing so many thoughts that they all blurred together. He wondered if Draco was truly worth the trouble.

“Course, once in a while, you find someone extraordinary.” Janus took Harry by the hand and stood up, pulling Harry with him.

Harry stepped backwards, withdrawing his hand and, making sure not to look Janus in the eyes. His stomach knotted at the thought of Janus looking inside his mind right now. The memory blazing in his brain was of standing at Janus’ bedroom door. I can’t do this…not with you, not with anyone.

“Thanks for the lesson, Professor Vulpin,” Harry said.

“When it’s just you and me, it’s just Janus.”

“Right.” Harry turned, opened the office door, and moved into the crowded hallway. He navigated through the stream of students without recognizing anyone, and headed toward the library. He wondered what books Ron and Hermione had found, and for once he actually planned to read them instead of merely listening to Hermione’s explanation.

Choose your practice targets carefully, Janus had said. Spying on the daydreams of first years wouldn’t prepare him for Draco, though. Harry had a different practice target in mind.

\-------------------------------------------

 

Tawny inhaled deeply, tasting the air of Knockturn Alley and sorting through the bouquet of foul odors for the particular stench of Jett’s killer. The fur on her back prickled, and she felt her tail bristle as she caught a whiff of something not quite human and not quite animal. Her ears swiveled at the sound of footsteps behind her, and she whirled on the spot, growling until her eyes focused on the man who had just stepped out into the moonlit alleyway. She stood up, transforming as she did. 

“Hello, Talon.” 

The man leaned casually against the side of the building and brought a cigarette to his lips for a moment. “The murdered girl, she was your… what? Tell me.” 

The skin on her back prickled as it had a moment ago, although there was no fur to stand on end now. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her jacket to hide the fact that she had clenched her fists. Janus had been right, she reminded herself. Talon wasn’t replacing Jett, and besides, she hated the taste of his feathers. “She was a friend.” 

“Just a friend?” He took another long drag on the cigarette as he waited for her answer, making it glow even brighter. 

“No ‘just’ about it. My parents practically raised her along with me. She was…”

“Family.” Talon finished. “I can make allowances for someone who lost family. Up to a point.” He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot, extinguishing the glow. “You should not be walking alone. What happened to your American friend?” 

“He’s… busy tonight.” Not that it’s any of your business. 

“Then you should apparate. Can you?” 

She shook her head. 

“I can take you home. Tell me where you live.” He held out a hand. 

“No, thank you.” 

“Do not be foolish, Tawny. Come.” He held out his hand again, as if she were an unruly child that he planned to drag home in disgrace. “If you’re afraid I plan revenge for my tail feathers…” He laughed.

“I’m not afraid of you!” she snapped. “I just want to walk, that’s all. It helps me clear my head.” And I’m more likely to get a shot at Moreaux if I’m alone in a dark alley. 

“As you wish.” Talon shrugged. His body shrank, and she felt a gust of wind from his wings as he flapped into the air and soared into the night.

The gravel in the alleyway crunched beneath her feet as she walked toward her apartment building. If she changed, she would be able to smell and hear the danger, but as she was, she would look more vulnerable and tempting, so she stayed human. Every sound sent her heart racing—the rustle of a plastic bag being tossed in the breeze, the shrieks from a nearby cat fight, and a series of small noises coming from shadows near a set of dumpsters. She heard muted breathing and faint sounds of movement, as if something were rubbing against the metallic surfaces. 

“It’s you. Isn’t it?” She waited for a reply of some kind, maybe a bark or growl. None came, but she could hear the breathing more clearly now. “I don’t understand why you won’t show yourself! Unless you’re not who I think you are.” Her hand found its way inside her jacket and closed around the butt of her wand. 

Something moved in the shadows, and the moonlight reflected from a pair of eyes.


End file.
